A Long Walk to Greatness
by Warlord1096
Summary: "The mind of a child is a wonderful, pure thing. It makes everything it experiences so much brighter, lighter." Enough to make a Horcrux relent, and turn back to what it once was. Harry's innocence even turned Voldemort's unknown Horcrux back to Tom Riddle, who survived long enough to tell Harry he was a wizard. And that birds can't talk. And that changed everything.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling has sole ownership of Harry Potter, despite my best efforts. All I own is the plot.**

**Prologue**

She flits through the darkness on fleeting toes, jumping from one shadow to another like a child in the rain.

However, there are no knights to lay their cloaks upon the puddles so she could simply walk across sedately. She knows that. She has accepted that long ago. She has no use for knights and cloaks, anyway.

She had a cloak once.

It was a nice cloak, she supposed. It looked rather plain, and smelt rather funny too, but it had its uses.

She had a cloak once. She had to give it away.

If only she could remember why.

She was fractured, here, there, _everywhere_ at once. She had long since given up trying to keep track of who she was, and only cared about what she had to do. It was so hard to keep track, anyway.

And so she was.

Just was.

She had been whole once. Long, long ago, she had been whole.

All she remembered of that time was a man with a scythe who ate children, fields full of golden crops, and happiness.

She wished she knew what happiness was.

All she could remember now was jumping through the shadows, leaping upon the suspecting and unsuspecting.

There was one incident that stood out, though.

It was a Friday. She was at a small, sleepy village, waiting to strike.

She went about her task as usual. For a brief second, she felt a tug at her heart as she saw the unmoving body of the young man on the floor, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses.

She gently picked him up, and was gone. At the same time, she was ascending the stairs to the room above.

Her heart twisted as she saw the scene before her, the fire-haired woman desperately trying to shield her baby from the splinter-soul wizard before her.

She shook her head. What was a heart?

And then she was gone with the redhead, who felt strangely familiar; and she was waiting for the snake-man to strike. He raised his wand, and spoke the words which opened the doors to her realm...

She reached out for the baby...

And the world fractured, dissolving into chaos. Everything vanished into the non-being, while the non-being came into existence. Magic spread her arms, and she was timeless, despite being old, so old. Windows shattered, vines crept up the wall, roses burst into bloom and grass grew beneath her feet. She swore a fish swam by her through the air. Its name was Nemo.

And she reached forward, because she had to find nobody. But then her world shattered, and then rearranged itself, shattered, and then rearranged itself, shattered, and then rearranged itself...

It was a Friday. She was at a small, sleepy village, waiting to strike.

She went about her task as usual. For a brief second, she felt a tug at her heart as she saw the unmoving body of the young man on the floor, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses.

She gently picked him up, and was gone. At the same time, she was ascending the stairs to the room above.

Her heart twisted as she saw the scene before her, the fire-haired woman desperately trying to shield her baby from the splinter-soul wizard before her.

She shook her head. What was a heart?

And then she was gone with the redhead, who felt strangely familiar; and she was waiting for the snake-man to strike. He raised his wand, and spoke the words which opened the doors to her realm...

She reached out for the baby...

And the world fractured, dissolving into chaos. Everything vanished into the non-being, while the non-being came into existence. Magic spread her arms, and she was timeless, despite being old, so old. Windows shattered, vines crept up the wall, roses burst into bloom and grass grew beneath her feet. She swore a fish swam by her through the air. Its name was Nemo.

And she reached forward, because she had to find nobody. But then her world shattered, and then rearranged itself, shattered, and then rearranged itself, shattered, and then rearranged itself...

It was a Friday. She was at a small, sleepy village, waiting to strike.

It was several Fridays before she realized that something was terribly wrong.

October 31st, 1981. It was a Friday.

She collected the redhead, who gave her a strange sense of Déjà vu. She shook her head again.

Such a strange notion, Déjà vu. It gave her pause for a second.

A second was all it took for a legend to be born.

The curse sailed out before she could reach for the baby. And the world fractured, dissolving into chaos. Everything vanished into the non-being, while the non-being came into existence. Magic spread her arms, and she was timeless, despite being old, so old. Windows shattered, vines crept up the wall, roses burst into bloom and grass grew beneath her feet. She swore a fish swam by her through the air. Its name was Nemo.

And Nemo winked at her, before he swam into the baby's forehead.

She giggled. There was _Nobody_ living in the child's head. A hero, who lived long ago, would like the joke.

If only she could remember his name.

And there was lightning everywhere, in the sky outside, in the rebounding curse, on the child's forehead.

She reached out for the snake-man...

And found nothing.

Her eyes narrowed as she recognized old magic. _Foolish magic._

She turned around, but Magic was already gone. Her laughter remained though, dark and haunting.

Taunting, taunting her.

She drew herself up to full height. Two brothers, joined by Destiny, who'd cheated her.

It reminded her of brothers from long ago, and a bridge over a river. Was it named Kwai?

Was it the river Kwai that mattered, or the three brothers?

The three brothers, the _third_ brother...

She shivered, suddenly wishing she had her old cloak.

Somebody was coming. She jerked her head up, shaking off the feeling that the baby was somehow looking _at_ her. She gave it a long, searching look, and something within her stirred.

She would be keeping an eye on this boy.

* * *

She waited atop a rooftop, swinging her legs and enjoying the sight of the city suburbs sprawling around her.

She rarely found the time to relax. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the wind blow through her hair.

She opened her eyes. Old men lay on hospital beds before her, waiting for her to come restore their youth.

She blinked. A solitary baby wailing, waiting for her to come sooth it.

Blink. An old lady crossing the street.

Blink. Ah. She was back where she had started.

Blink. Finally, she was on the rooftop again. It was rare for her to be where she did not need to be, but something was about to happen.

Besides, she was everywhere. And nowhere.

After all, seeing is believing.

A second...then another...And then –

Crack!

A small child appeared on the rooftop, his emerald eyes wild. He looked around, chest heaving, before his eyes widened in disbelief. He looked down and gave a gasp, before sitting down on the roof heavily; he was clearly in shock.

Next to him, the image of a pale old man appeared.

A smile graced the curve of her cherry lips.

_Well, this should be interesting._

* * *

Of all the places Harry Potter thought he would end up in his career as a student, he had never counted on the school roof.

Yet here he was, defying all logic, sitting bang on the middle of it.

_What was going on? _

He had the strangest feeling it was to do with a fish called Nemo.

He yelped as an old man suddenly appeared next to him.

The man looked pale, like a shade, a fragment of a dream. He looked quite handsome despite his old age, and his eyes were deep wellsprings of power and knowledge.

"Harry Potter," he said in a whisper, his quiet voice sending chills down Harry's spines.

"Who are you?!" demanded Harry, putting on a brave front despite not feeling very brave.

The old man sighed, a nostalgic look appearing on his face, as it normally did on the faces of old men.

"Tom Riddle," he finally said, "I've been many things in my life, but Tom Riddle sums it all up."

Harry relaxed slightly. How dangerous could a man be with as common a name as _Tom?_ The villains in Dudley's television all had exotic names like Sauron or Darth Vader. Tom Riddle didn't sound like an evil man.

The old man smiled gently, like he knew what Harry was thinking. Harry had a niggling feeling he did.

"Harry Potter," said the old man again, smiling. "You're a wizard."

_I'm a what?_ Harry backed away quickly, clearly this man was crazy. What was he, anyway? He had a feeling it would be rude to ask.

"I'm a spirit, and you're a wizard," said Tom Riddle good-naturedly, lifting his arms up and stretching tightly. "Though I wasn't always a spirit, and you weren't always a wizard."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, thoroughly confused.

"Well, who were you _before_ I told you that you were a wizard?"

"Harry," said Harry, as if he was stating the obvious. "I wa- _am_ Harry. Just Harry."

"Well, _just Harry_, do Harrys normally turn their teacher's hair blue, or teleport to the top of their school roofs?"

Harry hesitated. There _was_ a Harry on TV who did that, but his speciality was escaping from locks and chains.

"I could help you escape from your chains, you know?" mused the old man, "it would be the least I could do before I left."

"Left?" asked Harry, now utterly bamboozled. This man – _spirit_ – had appeared out of nowhere, told him he was a wizard (which made frightening sense). "What do you mean?"

It was not so much 'What do you mean by _left_?' or 'What do you mean by _chains_?' but _'What the hell do you mean?!'_

"The Dursleys," began the old man slowly, "don't like magic."

Harry had to agree with the strange old man.

"And _you_...are a wizard."

Harry didn't really agree with this, but he nodded anyway. The old man chuckled.

"So why go home to them?"

Harry was stunned. Run away from the Dursleys?

"I'm a child!" he protested. _I'm a child, how on earth do you expect me to survive in the big bad world?!_

The old man smiled wider. "And the world is truly magical to the young and the innocent."

Was this man seriously suggesting he run away?

"You could do it, you know. You would survive, too."

"How do you know?" enquired the little boy suspiciously.

The next question caught him off guard. "If you could see Death, what would it be like?"

He was shocked. The old man understood, and smiled. Death is a foreign concept to children, after all. Harry couldn't visualise Death, now or in the future at all.

So he turned left and laughed lightly, like he was sharing a small joke with somebody. "I suppose you aren't ready," he said mysteriously, turning back. "For now, suffice to say, a little birdie told me."

_Birds can't talk._

"No, they can't." Riddle was dead serious. "Not beyond the occasional mimicry, no."

"Are you reading my mind?" asked Harry, suspicious again.

"Naturally," said the Riddle, like there was nothing wrong with reading minds. "I've been part of your mind for so long."

"Then why am I seeing you just now?" asked Harry, a bit miffed.

His question gave the man some pause. "The mind of a child is a wonderful, pure thing. It makes everything it experiences so much brighter, lighter. I – I was not always like this."

"And it was my mind that changed you?"

Riddle gave a delighted laugh. "Oh, you _are_ a bright one, aren't you? I wish I could stay with you and see how you turned out!"

"You'll really be gone, then?" asked Harry. Despite the sheer madness of it all, a small measure of him found a strange measure of normality in the conversation.

Riddle nodded, the smile still playing on his face. "But I'll leave a bit of me behind for you. After all, you have hosted me for so long, and shown me how beautiful the world can be."

There was a moment's pause, and then Riddle said, "Did you know there's a fish called Nemo you need to find?"

Harry started, the sentence jogging a part of his brain. He blinked rapidly, and suddenly, there was blank space before him where Tom Riddle had been. He was gone.

_Had he even been there to begin with?_

Harry said the only curse word he knew, and felt the guilty thrill of doing the prohibited.

"Damn."

* * *

"Do you think he really won't return home?" asked Death interestedly, as Riddle put his hands in his pocket and walked up to her, whistling a careless tune.

"That's up to him. I helped him all I could in my short time."

"You really didn't tell him much," she replied a bit doubtfully.

"I told him that birds couldn't speak. That should be enough."

Death laughed. Here was a man after her own heart.

It was almost a shame that he would be punished, even after his change. Despite the fact that he wouldn't torment the boy like he could have, his past crimes remained.

So she took him along with her.

And what the _hell_ was a heart anyway?

* * *

"Damn." Harry swore again, but this time it was out of desperation. Evening had descended, and no one had come to rescue him yet. He was pretty sure he was in for hefty punishment when he returned to the Dursleys, too.

_If_ he returned to the Dursleys.

_An idea,_ it would be said one day, _is like a virus._

Harry was a wizard.

Dursleys hated magic.

It was elementary, really.

He sighed, feeling tired. This had been the most bizarre day of his life, which had been quite unimpressive so far, anyway. To the extent of his knowledge.

But was he really a wizard?

The cold night air blew over the suburbs, and Harry shivered violently. He was sure the November wind wouldn't do him any good.

Closing his eyes, he wished that he could be taken somewhere warmer, _anywhere_ that was not here.

There was a crack, and suddenly Harry found out that he was half-melted ice cream.

That was being pulled through a very thin straw.

He was deposited unceremoniously on a mattress. He lay on it for a good few moments, before he stopped feeling like half-melted ice cream, and more like a boy.

No, more like a _wizard._ He had no more doubts.

He, Harry Potter, was a seven year old wizard.

Who knew birds couldn't talk, except for a bit of mimicry here and there.

* * *

Months passed, and though he wasn't punished, Harry grew increasingly discontent with his life at the Dursleys. He never forgot the encounter on the roof – who _would_, to be honest?

And soon, Winter fled, reluctantly removing her cloak of white from the world and giving way to gentle Summer. Or was it ruthless?

And as he basked in the warmth of sunlight, Harry Potter was sure of some things.

He was a wizard, though he really couldn't control his magic much.

He really, _really_ wanted to run away from the Dursleys and just...just explore the magical world around him.

And birds couldn't talk, except for a bit of mimicry here and there.

And as he walked home from school, avoiding Dudley and his gang, he kicked a soda can in frustration.

"Birds can't talk," he huffed, "fat lot of good that did. What can? Elephants? Spiders? Snakes?"

"_I'd say snakes." _A voice behind him laughed, and he whirled around. His eyes widened as he beheld a grey-green grass snake lounging on the garden of Number 7, Privet Drive.

_Well, what do you know?_

* * *

**Author's Note: Will be slow updating. This idea has been nagging me for a long, **_**long**_** time.**

**Now, to the question which will undoubtedly be asked. The pairing is...**

**Wait for it. **_**Wait**_** for it -**

**Nah, I won't really tell you. Wait for it.**

**Or find Nemo. He'll tell you. Nemo literally means "No man", and I think that's an apt description for Harry's Horcrux, don't you?**

**Intrigued? I'd hope so.**


	2. The Journey Begins With Lightning

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

**Warning: Mature rating earned this chapter. Rating's been bumped up.**

* * *

'_The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.'_

* * *

**The Journey Begins With Lightning**

"So I'm a – a Parcel-mouth?" asked Harry, perplexed. While the snake creeped him out somewhat, it had also provided him with great conversation for an hour. "What do delivery packages have to do with anything?"

The snake sighed. This would take some time.

* * *

_It was a dark and stormy night outside the island fortress of Azkaban._

_Nothing of import happened. There was a story, but it ended in death, like all stories inevitably do._

* * *

**8th August, 1988**

It was a clear, moonlit night the day after. The moonlight shone through the tiny sliver on the wall, which passed as a window for the inmates of Azkaban Prison.

In one corner, a thin, malnourished dog lay wearily with its nose hidden by its paws.

Once, a long time ago, that dog had been a man...or a man had been a dog.

Was it even a long time ago, anyway?

Footsteps shattered the peace – what mockery of it was there anyway – of the dungeons, as heavy steel-toed boots made their way down the stairs that led to the lowest floor. A shiny, silvery hawk ensured that the Dementors stayed away from the incoming party.

"Black!" called an exultant voice, startling the dog out of its self-induced state of inactivity. It raised its head slowly, responding to the name like it was a fluid fragment of his diminishing memory, a single droplet lost in the ravaging sea of time.

For though many say time is like a river, flowing in one direction, it is indeed an ocean in a storm – pulled one way and another since the beginning of time.

But time ceases to exist inside the prison altogether. Even Lady Time, who flows through outstretched fingers like slippery waves, seems to be afraid to walk into the lair of the soul sucking abominations.

What chance did a wretched Animagus have?

The dog whined, shutting its eyes. A blink of an eye, and suddenly, a man lay spread eagled on the cold stone floor where the canine had been seconds ago.

He tried to struggle to sit up, but his efforts were in vain. The transformation, which was once effortless for him now, took everything he had to perform.

So he lay there, spread eagled on his stomach, a broken shell of a man.

He was in stark contrast to the proud woman who was being dragged down to the dungeons by the Auror guards.

"Unhand me, you filthy lowborns!" Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman in question, screamed in anger, "How dare you drag me along, _touch_ me?!"

"There'll be none of that now, Trixie Darlin'!" said a particularly obnoxious guard, balding and cursed with a huge mole on his cheek and an ugly leer on his face. "Now that the Black Bitch is dead, there's nobody left to pay for you to be kept out of your true cell."

"Besides," he continued with a drawl, "your _dear_ cousin is here."

"That's enough, Higgins," barked the Prison Warden, who was visibly nervous. "Concentrate on the bloody patronus!"

Higgins being the only one able to cast a Patronus, the lives – or rather souls – of the entire group depended upon him. Not that they cared much for Bellatrix's soul, they'd sooner throw her to the Dementors happily.

"Did you know how lovely old Walburga died, Trixie?" Bellatrix's jaw clenched at the infernal nickname, her violet eyes burning with barely restrained fury. "She was coming for a visit to you, she was, yesterday night!"

For some reason, the other Aurors found this deeply ironic, and they couldn't help bursting out into deep, booming laughter. "And the bitch...the bitch was struck by lightning!" wheezed Higgins in between his gasps for air. "Never a better way to go for her!"

Bellatrix could care less that her aunt was dead, but her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. She covered it up by snarling in anger. "How dare you even talk about her that way, you bastard son of a whore?" she demanded, lifting her chin up defiantly. "She was worth twice of your entire family! How does your wife spread her legs for you every night when she has to see that monstrosity upon your face?" She cackled madly, her crazed laughter setting off a chain reaction through the hallway. The crazier inmates joined in the hellish laughter, rattling their chains or banging against the cell doors.

The pandemonium echoed the hall, until it seemed that Satan himself was laughing in the shadows, at home in this dark and desolate place.

Crack!

The sound of a slap echoed around the dungeons, and Bellatrix reeled back, shocked. Silence descended abruptly, and some of the prisoners leaned forward eagerly.

Her hair flew about her, forming a veil of darkness. Behind it, her eyes widened in shock, and then anger, before they took on a blank look.

The madness raged within them, though – like a caged tiger, waiting for the slightest slip before...

She looked up, shaking her hair out of her face with a sultry grin. The Warden, who was unwarding the door, did not notice; but the three other Aurors looked shocked.

Higgins, insufferable as her was, gave an ugly grin. "Like it rough, do you, bitch?" he asked, and slapped her again. They could almost hear her breathing speed up, and her heavy-lidded eyes take on a smoky look.

The warden turned back, but too late; Higgins grabbed Bellatrix's chin with his left hand and roughly pulled her down to him.

Bellatrix responded eagerly, her breast heaving. Their lips mashed together in a duel of passion, and she expertly teased his lips apart and dove into his mouth. Higgins' eyes widened in pleasure, but instead of closing shut, they widened further –

He flailed his arm about as Bellatrix relentlessly preyed upon his mouth like a starved tigress, until she pulled away with bright eyes...

And Higgins' tongue in her mouth, a string of saliva still hanging from it, swaying pendulously in a non-existent wind.

For a second, everyone froze.

The Patronus flickered, and died.

Bellatrix spat the tongue out forcefully.

It hit Higgin's mole on his cheek and dripped down the side of his face, leaving behind a wet trail.

The Aurors were too far gone to see or care. With a hasty spell, Bellatrix was blasted back into her cell, the door magically slamming shut before her.

Her mad cackles echoed through the dungeon as the guards ran up to get their colleague medical help, and the Dementors descended.

And Satan's laughter rang through the hall again, as if even the Dementors couldn't touch him.

They couldn't.

* * *

_Dementors drive the prisoners of Azkaban to madness slowly, very slowly, keeping them on the edge very, very long; until the lines between reality and dreams begin to blur, until fishes start swimming through the air and birds start holding intimate conversation. And then..._

_Nothing._

_But what about those who're __**already**__insane?_

* * *

**7th August, 1988**

"Right," said Harry, shouldering his bag, "right."

"Get on with it," said the snake, whom Harry had named Snake. "You can't dilly-dally about! What if you're late?"

"Late for what?" asked Harry incredulously. _He was running away from home, what on earth could he possibly be late for?!_

If snakes could kill with are-you-crazy looks, Snake would be a Basilisk.

"Well, that's for you to decide, innit?! Get a move on now!" Harry rolled his eyes, but walked forward anyway.

One step. Another.

He half expected Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to come thundering down the stairs and demand to know where he was going, but they were gone for the day, along with Dudley.

He considered leaving a note, but heeded Snake's advice and decided against it. What if there truly was some strange magic with which they could track him down using the note?

He wrenched the door open, before taking a deep breath. He turned to look back at the house for a few seconds, and made a mental note of his inventory.

Clothes, warm blankets (he smirked, Dudley would be furious), a sleeping bag, a toilet bag, a torch and every one of the batteries in the drawer (another smirk). No food except for an apple and a packet of biscuits.

He made to shut the door but paused at the last second. He patted his front pocket, feeling the wad of notes he'd stolen from all three Dursleys' private stash.

With a large grin, he slammed the door shut behind him. There was a clicking sound as the door locked shut behind him.

Feeling a bit vindictive, he reached below the doormat, he pulled out the key and shoved it into his bag (he was worried about how long he could carry it).

Number 4, Privet Drive had been his house a long time – it would still be his place of residence if the police ever caught him; he shuddered at the thought of returning to the Dursleys after this. But it would still be funny if the Dursleys were locked out of their own house while the key was with him the whole time.

Snake slid off his arm, and landed neatly on the grass. "Thissss is where we part, wisssard!" he said gravely with a grand flourish of his tail, speaking in his snake-like voice which he reserved for special occasions such as this.

"Why do you suddenly have a strange accent?" asked Harry, puzzled.

Frustrated, Snake just slithered off rapidly without a backward glance, cursing the idiotic child in his head.

Harry shrugged, and set off walking, feeling slightly foolish for some inexplicable reason.

He had just turned the corner to Wisteria Walk when a voice rang out behind him, "Harry?"

His heart sank down to his stomach. Turning around, he saw old Mrs. Figg hobbling towards him, her old slippers making a slapping noise on the pavement.

"Where are you off to, then, young man?" she asked curiously.

"Er," said Harry, his brain working a mile a minute. "School," he blurted out, and then winced slightly.

She raised an eyebrow, "During the Summer?"

"Er," repeated Harry, "it's actually Movie day. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia took Dudley, but I have to wait at the park. My friend, er, Larry will pick me up to take me to London."

She looked at him for a long hard second, before she asked, "And what time did he say he would pick you up?"

Harry cursed himself inwardly. He had no idea about the time – of all the things to forget, he had forgotten to get a _watch!_

"One o'clock?" he half-guessed, half-answered.

A few moments later, he was being dragged back towards Mrs. Figg's home. "One o'clock, indeed. Don't they teach you to read the clock at school? Merlin, you're two hours early!"

"I can wait at the park!" protested Harry.

"You most certainly will not. What you are suggesting is madness!" He supposed he didn't have to explain why he was carrying a bag since she'd thought up an explanation herself.

They were back at her home in five minutes. Number 4 seemed to be mocking him from across the street.

"I suppose you are planning on a sleepover?" she asked, eyeing his rucksack – the one Dudley had received on his birthday this year and never used. He nodded, as he reluctantly followed her into the house.

"Wait here," she told him, "why don't you sit on the couch, and I'll get you some cake?"

He winced, having no desire to taste her cabbagy cakes. "No thanks, Mrs. Figg, I had a heavy breakfast."

"Well, why don't you take a short nap then? You could stay out of my way too, then!"

Despite his half-hearted protests, he found himself fuming away on the couch a few minutes later, safely tucked under a blanket. Mrs. Figg had gone off to her own room.

"Worst escape ever!" he muttered angrily under his breath.

"Meow," he shifted his neck to see an old cat staring up at him. It was as black as his hair, and it repeated, "Meow." He recognized Mr. Tibbles, one of Mrs. Figgs oldest companions.

"What are you meowing about, you stupid cat?!" asked Harry angrily, still sore from his failure.

"MEOW!" leapt at him, scratching his arm where it was exposed over the blanket.

"Ouch!" he cradled his arm, "you stupid anima-!" he stopped short. Not only because the cat was looking inexplicably smug, but because something else had struck him.

"Can you understand me?" he asked in an awed whisper. If he could talk to snakes, there was nothing extraordinary about cats understanding him!

The cat blinked. "Meow."

That shut Harry up for a second. He couldn't really tell whether the cat understood him or not from a blink and a meow.

Cats meowed a lot.

And they definitely blinked a lot more.

He tried again. "Are you a magic cat?" he asked, feeling slightly foolish.

Mr. Tibbles gave him a long, penetrating stare. And then it slunk off towards the door.

Stopping for a second, it turned and looked at Harry, and then back to the doorway. "Meow."

"D- do you want me to follow?"

"Meow."

Well, he might as well give it a try. Very quietly, he followed the cat into the hall, up the stairs, and straight into the attic.

The cat pawed the door, looking at him. Feeling increasingly sure that the cat was quite intelligent, he opened the bolt and stepped in.

He immediately sneezed at the dust, and froze in horror. Nothing happened for a few moments, and he slowly relaxed.

He _swore_ the cat was glaring at him.

It looked away after a while, before walking away and leaping onto a cardboard box. She began pawing at it, looking at him.

Hesitantly, he moved over. leapt away as he approached, throwing up dust motes. He opened the box, and gasped.

* * *

_Arabella Figg was the only daughter of Isabelle and Sebastian Flanworth, both proud users of magic._

_Though she hadn't showed any signs of magic as a child, her parents had lovingly assured her that she was just a late bloomer._

_They'd even bought her some of the first year books so she could get a head start on her peers._

_She was naturally very excited when she turned eleven, but all her dreams were dashed when the Hogwarts letter never came._

_So her mother packed away her books in a box in the attic when she screamed and raged that she wanted nothing to do with magic anyway. Later, when her parents had been killed in the War, she'd opened the box, thrown them in, and left without even sealing the box back up._

_She was a squib, and her parents had just died. She wanted nothing to do with magic._

* * *

Harry could hardly believe his eyes. There, before him, were books on magic!

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Standard Book of Spells Grade – 1, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Magical Drafts and Potions._

He gasped. Was Mrs. Figg a witch, then? He thought about it, but decided he wouldn't confront her about it – the risks far outweighed the gains.

He instead picked up _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, which Mr. Tibbles was nudging insistently with its head.

Flipping through the book, he soon came upon a picture of cats. He opened the book properly to the page, and quickly devoured it in the dim light that came through the tiny window.

"You're a kneazle?" he asked, his eyes shining.

Mr. Tibble looked quite smug. "Meow," he said.

Harry was beyond excited – this was a one-way ticket to discover more about wizards.

He turned the page and began reading about Flobberworms, but a slight noise from downstairs made him jump. He panicked for a few minutes, but breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

He heard a clatter and the sound of something rolling on the floor. He looked down to see that Mr. Tibbles had nudged two sticks towards his feet.

He bent down, and picked one up. It felt slightly warm in his hand, but a bit distant at the same time.

His eyes widened a bit. _If this was what he thought it was –_

His gaze landed on _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration,_ and he gasped. A bright light coming from a stick much like his, and surrounding a mouse.

He gasped.

_These were magic wands!_

He picked up the other, and immediately dropped it again in shock when sparks shot out of the end.

He stiffened as the clatter of the falling wand seemed to echo around the huge house. Deciding he'd had enough excitement and trying to calm his desperately beating heart, Harry quietly righted the box, which now had only a few strange looking, musty clothes.

Gathering the books to his chest like they were a priceless treasure, and quietly pocketing the wands, he nearly flew down the stairs back to the living room. It seemed Mrs. Figg was unaware of his actions. Hopefully he'd be gone by the time she discovered that her possessions were gone.

He gasped. She was a witch! What if she knew already?

Harry panicked. He hastily crammed the books into his rucksack, and walked hastily towards the front door.

He opened it ever so quietly, and slunk out of the door, careful not to close it all the way and alert Mrs. Figg.

"Meow." Harry froze and turned back. Mr. Tibbles was at the doorway, staring solemnly at him.

He stood there, not quite knowing what to say.

"Thank you," he finally said uncertainly, shuffling from one foot to another. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Did looked faintly amused, or was it just his imagination?

"Meow."

"Er, right. Goodbye, then," said Harry, feeling foolish again.

"Meow."

Feeling distinctly unnerved for some reason now, he set off walking rapidly again, lest Mrs. Figg jump him again. Besides, he _really_ wanted to get to a safe place and read the books.

He let out a mental cheer when he reached the park, his first decided landmark.

He flopped down on the merry-go-round, before he suddenly realized that Mrs. Figg might realise that he was missing and come looking for him here.

_Flap, flap, flap!_ The advancing sound of old slippers on the pavement sent him into a panic. She was already coming!

Fear bubbled in Harry's stomach, along with something else.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a weird sensation overtook him, spreading from his stomach to both his head and his toes.

For the third time in his life, Harry Potter felt what it was like to be melted ice cream being sucked through a very small straw.

He swore when he opened his eyes and found where he was.

In his short life, Harry hadn't really thought he'd end up on the school roof.

Not _twice._

* * *

**8th August, 1988**

"_Sirius!"_ cooed Bella when she could make out who was in the cell opposite her, "my _dear _cousin! How have you been?"

The man opposite her had just managed to gain enough strength to sit up and wait for the guards to send down some slop; perhaps that tiny nourishment would give him the minimal spark necessary to shift back into Pad – Pad...the dog, whatever its name was.

Shuttered, blank eyes with the barest hint of intelligence within them bored into the heavy lidded eyes of his cousin. His lips turned up into the barest of shrugs, and he gave a jerk which could have passed off as a shrug.

"As arrogant as ever, I see," observed Bellatrix, a malicious grin on her face. "Never did learn some humility, did you, little Siri?"

"And look where that got you..." she crooned, "the new Head of the Black House, unable to lift a finger!"

Sirius, after some trying, did manage to lift a finger; his tallest on the right hand. Bellatrix laughed, "Such crudeness!" she said in delight, "worthy of your dead friend, _dear little Lily!_" she finished, her grin widening.

"Y – you crazy bitch!" rasped Sirius finally, and then coughed. His throat felt like it was on fire; he hadn't spoken in a long, long time.

"Crazy?" countered Bellatrix, giving him a pointed look, "I remember you being crazy...for dear Andi!" she cackled out loud this time, revelling in the flash of darkness that passed over Sirius' eyes.

"Tell me, Siri, did your friends know? Did they know, that you lusted after your cousin, that her sudden elopement was the reason you really ran away before your sixth year?"

Sirius made to swear, but the words were lost in his throat. His eyes, though, were burning with anger.

"You _prided_ yourself on being the black sheep of the family!" continued Bellatrix mercilessly, "so proud to be in Gryffindor, to have Muggleborn friends! Did _lovely_ Lily know that you had dreams of seducing your own cousin? Did you feel _dirty_ whenever you thought about her?"

Sirius managed successfully to swear this time, but he fell into a coughing fit.

His cousin continued, unheeding, "Did you _wuv_ her, itty bitty Siri?" she asked, her eyes wide with enjoyment as she needled her cousin.

"More than you loved your d-dead Dark Lord, Bella," said Sirius, a ghost of a smug grin passing over his face. He fell into a hacking coughing fit again.

Instead of descending into a rant like Sirius had predicted she would, Bella smirked widely instead. "He's not as dead as you'd like, cousin. He'll be back one day, and then your lovely little godson will meet his end like he should have!"

Sirius snarled as his animagus side took over for a split second; thankfully Bellatrix couldn't tell.

"How does it feel, Siri?" she asked, "knowing that your godson is out there, while you're languishing here in prison? How does it feel, that you failed your best friends?"

She had hit Sirius right where it hurt the most, his eyes shuttered over as he lapsed back to his Dementor-inspired madness. He forcibly shook himself awake, his anger helping him to get a better grasp on reality.

"What about you, Bella?" he asked, his voice raspy. "How do you like your new...accommodations? I see my dearly departed mother can no longer keep you in the higher level cells with her money now?"

Strangely, the only way to enter Azkaban was through the top, where the low-level prisoners went. Besides the trapdoors at the top, there was not a single alternate route out of the Prison, only tiny windows through which the light and the spray from the sea entered. The windows were too small for humans to pass through, though; but not for rail-thin dogs or other animals.

Bellatrix spat in disgust, "You're a disgrace in the name of the Blacks, Sirius! You're the new Lord of the family, and here you are, lying in the lowest levels of Azkaban!"

"Better than our lovely old house," said Sirius snidely. "I suppose Mother's lovely portrait will be activated in the Hall now. That's the worst part about her death," he added thoughtfully.

Bellatrix laughed. "You don't understand, do you, you idiot?" she asked condescendingly. "Aunt Walburga's death was a sign, an omen!"

"Well, I'm glad someone else is excited over her death," replied Sirius nonchalantly, though his eyes gained the slightest looks of curiosity.

"You idiot!" hissed Bellatrix. "You don't understand, do you? You always did consider yourself above the Dark Arts, little cousin. Every Dark witch and wizard could feel the shift last night, Sirius. Something, or someone has entered the Magical World. Something big, something that could bring change."

"It's called a storm, Bella, not a shifting of magic," said Sirius, as if he was explaining something to a five year old.

"You little shit!" hissed Bella, incensed. "Think about it, Sirius; you and your little group took Divination at Hogwarts, didn't you? Aunt Walburga was a dark witch; she was killed by lightning atop Azkaban! Use your head for once!"

"The Lightning Struck Tower," breathed Sirius, his eyes widening in shock. "But if she was dark –"

Realization dawned on him, and he began laughing. "Well, if it symbolises the destruction of darkness, it can't be too good for you, can it, Bella?"

He was shocked, though, when Bellatrix's cackling joined in with his; he stopped short, dumbstruck.

"How narrow minded you are, Sirius," she said, her eyes bright, "thinking about good and evil when I talked about light and dark. There's a new player on the board, cousin," she said, her breast heaving with excitement, "a _Light_ player, one with immense power."

Seeing the puzzled look on Sirius' face, she explained, "Don't you understand, Sirius? I don't serve mindlessly...I only serve the powerful. There is no dark or light, good or evil, you blind fool; there is only power, and those too weak to seek it!"

"I doubt a Light wizard would accept a Dark whore like you, Bella," said Sirius, and Bellatrix's eyes flashed at the insult.

She calmed down, though, seeing that it was pointless, and would also antagonize her only source of conversation in this dank place.

Bellatrix knew she was already mad; she didn't intend to get _madder _through enforced solitude.

"Oh, but cousin," she said, her voice suddenly breathy, "we witches have our way, especially us Dark ones," she said, lifting her chin up and dragging a long nail across the side of her face.

"And I suppose you'll do all this when you come out from Azkaban after serving your life sentence?" asked Sirius, laughing.

Bellatrix joined in, it was funny in a twisted way – and Black's weren't one for the straight and narrow, anyway.

"Tell me, Siri," she said suddenly, her eyes glinting, "did you ever _wank off_ to thoughts of dear Andromeda?" she drawled out the last part.

Sirius shut up quickly.

* * *

**7th August, 1988**

Harry pored through his books, hoping for something to help him out of this mess. He was beginning to panic now, especially when he saw the huge black cloud approaching slowly but steadily from the North.

Nothing, there was no mention of the teleporting thing he'd done earlier today. All he'd read about was the Levitation Charm, the Unlocking Charm, the Levitation Charm; none of the illustrations showed a man disappearing and reappearing (the pictures actually_ moved_!), much to Harry's desperation.

He could feel the wind picking up now, strong gusts now and then would threaten to displace him from his perch at the apex of the roof.

He flipped through the page wildly, searching for anything, _anything_ at all...he read an entire page until he realised that it was about the Softening Charm.

He gulped. Would he try the spell and then try and jump down?

He looked down, and then blinked rapidly a few times. No, he was definitely not going down that route.

Dusk had already set, but there were dark overtones to the sky already. He could already smell the oncoming rain, the lush scent invading his senses and sharpening his thoughts. He'd always loved such outdoorsy smells, especially those of freshly cut grass and the earth after the rain.

His eyes fell on the chimney, and widened. How could he have forgotten about it, when it was right there behind him all this time?!

The wind was blowing ferociously now; he got down on all fours and crawled along the tiled roof. He cried out in fear when a particularly strong gust of wind almost threatened to blow him off, but he managed to hold on for dear life.

There was a flash of lightning, which lit up the now-dark world around him, followed by the raging roar of thunder. He whimpered, out here on the roof, the sound threatened to split his eardrums apart - it seemed the very vibrations it sent through the air and along the roof would through him off.

He reached the chimney and looked down. It was blocked, of course it was; he'd never seen a fire going in the Headmaster's room. He sat back up in despair, still clutching the raised apex where the two sides of the roof joined together.

He took a deep breath, and then another.

It had started to rain. Thick, cold drops of water poured from the heavens in torrents, drenching him in a matter of seconds.

His eyes widened in horror. His whole world was inside his bag now and he couldn't risk getting it wet!

He started thinking furiously now, thinking of anything that could help him.

He was dripping water now, the droplets now sliding off his nose, and down his glasses. A few tears leaked out of his eyes and joined them – everything in his bag, even the spellbooks would be ruined.

He took his bag off and put it on his lap instead, putting his arm around it in a childish hug. Fearing the worst, he reached _The Standard Book of Spells _again, hoping for something to help him.

He took out his torch and flicked it on as well. He cursed, never having brought anything to protect him from the rain.

He desperately read what he could, but they were all _useless!_

The Levitation Charm, the Unlocking Charm, the Flame Charm, the Repairing Charm –

His eyes roved frantically over the page, searching for something, _anything_ that could help.

_The Repairing Charm is one of the most useful household Charms, and one of the most basic spells in any witch or wizard's arsenal. It is used, as the name suggests, to repair broken objects. Invented by Frank Fenchurch, who came to be known as "Frank the Fixer", in 1568, it improved on the earlier Repairing Spell considerably._

_The incantation for the spell is Reparo –_

Harry growled, and flicked his eyes away, searching for something else. It was getting harder to read as the page was getting soggy and bloated.

A footnote at the bottom caught his eye, though. While _Reparo_ can repair normal damage, and even those from the Breaking Charm (_Reducto, Standard Book of Spells - Grade 5), _it is useless against higher blasting curses like _Confringo (Grade 7) _and _Bombarda (Grade 7),_ and Dark Magic as well.

His eyes widened, and a crazy idea formed in his head.

He took out both the wands from his pocket. For some reason, both sticks of wood were dry.

He held on to the one that felt warmer in his hand, pocketing the other. He pointed to the slates on the roof.

Feeling foolish, he gave the wand a wave like magicians did on TV, and muttered, '_Bombarda,'_, selecting the spell which sounded meaner.

A second, then another...and then, a strong wind blew. Nothing happened.

Harry nearly fell off, but managed to right himself at the last moment, still getting drenched by the rain.

Lightning lit up the sky, landing dangerously close to him, and he whimpered. Thunder followed, and he felt like the sound was shattering the very sky overhead.

He tried again, '_BOMBARDA!' he yelled in despair._

Nothing.

'_BOMBARDA! BOMBARDA! CONFRINGO!'_

Nothing happened, and he fell to his knees, sobbing in earnest this time. He was a wizard, and a pitiful excuse for one. He couldn't even cast a spell!

He felt like throwing his wand and books away in frustration, but he knew that it would only detoriate the situation further.

So he sat down again, back to the chimney, and frantically read through the book. He tried holding the warm wand and concentrating on the strange feeling teleporting gave him.

He thought he felt something once or twice, but nothing happened.

An immeasurable span of time later, he was so wet his clothes felt like lead, he was shivering violently, his teeth chattering together, and he couldn't feel his toes.

He, Harry Potter, was going to die here.

He felt a few more tears look down his face, and an old conversation came back to him.

"_If you could see Death, what would it be like?"_

He still didn't know the answer to that, but he hoped that Death would at least be kind.

He nearly jumped a mile as he felt a tap on his shoulder. Heart running a mile a minute, he turned around to see a dark haired girl silhouetted against the flashing sky.

She was his age, he saw. Long dark hair, a smile pulling at her lips, and her eyes...he stopped short.

Her eyes were like nothing he'd ever seen. Dark and deep, he felt as if he was being drawn into a spell, like this little girl was charming him with those endless pools.

_Hollow_ pools. He giggled at the joke. Was it him, or was the world getting brighter?

She smiled enigmatically, as if they were sharing a private joke.

"W – who are you?" he asked, his teeth chattering. "Are you a witch?"

She looked quite pensive at that question, biting her bottom lip. "I think I was once," she finally said, giving another of those smiles.

Harry stared at her for another second before he realised something with a start.

The girl was completely dry.

"Dance with me," her words jerked him out of this observation, and he looked at her incredulously.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked. Even in the face of death – literally and figuratively – Harry Potter was unfailingly polite.

She giggled, and he felt sure that this girl was crazy.

She reached out, and deftly pulled his torch and book out of his grasp, and tucked them into his bag. In another deft movement, the bad was closed and on her shoulder – a display of speed and strength impossible for her age.

"Dance with me, silly!" she said with a giggle, and she took his hand and pulled him up, again with strength beyond her years.

Warmth exploded through his entire being, but he could barely comment on it, before she pulled his hand wildly.

He screamed as he lurched forward dangerously, but she nimbly stepped aside, her footing sure even on the slanted roof. He flailed forward, but another pull and he found himself twisting and flying back at her.

His body mashed against her awkwardly, she laughed and took the opportunity to put his other arm on his waist.

"Dance!" she said, and before he could protest, he was being dragged along the roof by her like a show dog doing tricks for its master.

He kept his mouth wisely shut when he realised that the rain seemed to be bending _away_ from him while he was holding hands with her, not to mention the fact that she seemed to send that delicious warmth spreading through his body.

He lost that inhibition, though, when she spun him out wildly off the raised apex, and he found himself weightless for a second.

He shouted in terror, but she had already pulled him back.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the sound of the storm, whereas hers had been perfectly normal. "IS THIS SOME SORT OF CRAZY DANCE OF DEATH?!"

For some reason, she found this enormously funny; she through back her head and laughed, her clear, vibrant laughter echoing through the night sky.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the two dancers, one reluctant and the other delighted.

Strangely, if anybody else would have looked up, they would have seen a crazy child dancing atop the roof alone, a rucksack hovering in the air in time with his moves.

There was a loud groaning sound, and Harry was distracted. He looked over the girl's shoulders the tree next to the school building had been struck.

He had the strangest feeling on the nape of his neck, though, something that he would come to recognize and never disregard later in his life. He felt something dangerous was about to happen, but he almost laughed it off; what could be worse than dancing on the top of your school roof with a strange girl in the middle of a storm?

The answer was not to his liking.

The thunder was like a drum roll prelude to their next daring move in their strange dance –

As the girl took tight hold of his hands and leapt clean off the roof.

He screamed and clung onto her, spewing unintelligible words in his mindless panic.

With an eerie precision, they landed on one of the branches of the falling tree, but the girl never stopped dancing.

She pulled him forward along the descending branch inching slowly towards the end.

His eyes widened in horror, but his words were lost in his chest as she leapt off again.

Fear clutched in Harry's chest as he found himself in midair, heading straight for the barred windows. He lost his grip on her and suddenly he was holding on with only his left hand, and the girl was laughing, and everything was _madness_ -

His eyes widened, and he suddenly felt something in his right hand.

He looked down at his hand to find the dark wand in his hand, the one which felt comfortable in his hand.

The girls grip seemed to be tightening ominously on his other hand, like Death herself was getting a stronger grasp on him with every passing second, but he never paused to think.

Holding his wand tightly, he pointed it at the window seconds before impact, and yelled like he'd never yelled before –

"_**BOMBARDA!"**_

Miles away, lightning struck the tower of Azkaban, and brought an end to a story; a story which ended with death.

And a glorious symphony met Harry's ears – his own voice breaking, glass shattering, metal exploding, and the tree shifting.

And he sailed clean through the window, landing on a bed of broken glass on a cold hard floor.

Gasping, spluttering, he tried to stand up; but his knees buckled and he fell back.

Darkness descended and he knew no more.

A woman atop the Tower of Azkaban, tonight in the guise of a little girl, giggled as she clasped the cold hand of Walburga Black.

* * *

**Author's note: I won't be updating any of my works again until Christmas or New Years, probably. You'll be lucky if you get one before that, and so will I.**

**In the meanwhile, I'd really appreciate feedback on this story/chapter, because I've never written anything like this before – I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Good, bad, gross but brilliant, brilliant but gross, or just gross will work for me. Just leave your opinion! Expect replies to your reviews too, but they'll be late. I will get back to doubts/questions though.**

**Oh, and there will be no incest in this story, meaning Andromeda will remain faithful to Tonks. She was used just to show that...well, every Black is mad/incestual/mad and incestual one way or the other. Aren't all Purebloods?**


	3. Ice Maidens and Light Fields

**Disclaimer: J.K.R. owns Harry Potter. I don't. Stop rubbing it in! I don't even own traces of Bruce Almighty, which inspired me this chapter.**

**Ice Maidens and Light Fields**

_Clap, clap._

Harry jerked into awareness as the sharp sound of clapping invaded his consciousness, suddenly feeling aware of everything about him.

He felt a curious warmth all over his body, like he was submerged in a pool of warm chocolate. He gave a little dreamy giggle as he thought of the chocolate pool.

He recognized the sensation, having felt it once before in his life. He had been five, and he'd broken his wrist after falling from a tree. His hand had been healed the day after, but the sensations had lingered.

_But why am I being healed now?_

The answer came to him in a flash, the events of the night before playing before his eyes. He groaned as he sat up, eyes still closed, but even though his mind knew that he should have been exhausted, shivering and burning up with a fever, his body could feel that it was perfectly healthy.

It was the weirdest feeling.

He was intrigued by the mysterious girl who'd saved his life, but just as he was wondering who she was...

_Clap, clap._

He opened his eyes a sliver, then all the way, when he saw the darkness all around.

"Well, that can't be right," a voice spoke up from somewhere before him. He could almost hear the puzzlement in the voice. It was a deep voice, one that simultaneously sent shivers down his spine and a jolt of courage through his heart.

A second and then..._"Ah."_ It sounded like the voice had come to a realization.

"Let there be light!"

_Clap, clap._

And there was light. Harry shielded his protesting eyes as bright sunlight soared in through the window. The very window he'd broken last night.

He squinted at it, puzzled.

A chuckle made him start, though, and he turned around to find himself facing a man in a white suit.

A janitor's suit.

The man had dark skin, with soft eyes surrounded by crow's feet. He had an easy smile on his lips, and a cap on his head with an eagle emblazoned on it.

He held out his hand, "I'm the new Janitor," he introduced himself.

Harry took it, not knowing the proper way to respond when one woke up in the middle of a classroom during the summer holidays to find the janitor bent over him. "Harry Potter," he said tentatively.

Despite waking up to this stranger, Harry found himself taking an instant liking to the man. And even though just _looking_ at him made Harry's mind bubble with thousands of inexplicable questions and thoughts, he asked what he felt was the safest.

"How did you repair the window?" he asked curiously, noting that there was no debris on the floor, and the room was in fact in perfect repair.

The janitor, it seemed, had not expected this question. Even so, his eyes lit up, and his smile widened. "Oh, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that," he said with a grin, "though it took a good couple of days."

"A couple of days?" Harry gasped. _He had been unconscious that long?_

The man must have misinterpreted the question. "Well," He said a bit defensively, "it takes some time to clean up some messes!"

Harry lapsed into a momentary silence, not sure what to make of that bizarre statement.

"So, it was a big mess then?" he asked tentatively, feeling a bit foolish.

The man fixed him with a sudden piercing gaze. "It could have been," he said, and Harry thought he could hear an undertone of sadness. "But I think it'll be avoided now. You're here now."

"Besides," he added, "I've had messes much bigger. Seven times bigger."

"Why seven times?" asked Harry, unable to help himself. _How could one measure messes?_

The man visibly turned sadder before his eyes. "You're a curious one, aren't you?" he said with a sigh, "I've asked the same question myself. Why _seven_ times_?_"

An awkward silence stretched between them, and the janitor's eyes took on a faraway look.

"Oh well," he said, shaking himself, "it's not right to tarry when there's work that can be done. Up with you, then!" he finished, suddenly brisk.

For some inexplicable reason, Harry complied. He was handed a mop.

He looked up at the man, confused.

The janitor looked back at him solemnly.

"Well," he finally asked Harry after an intermittent period of time, "why aren't you cleaning?"

Harry started. "What?" he asked, stunned.

"Well, I can't help you unless you help yourself!" the old man said, his eyebrows raised. "And I'll even give you an apple if you do it well!" he added, obviously thinking he was enticing Harry.

"Bu – but," protested Harry, stuttering, "you're the _janitor_. Won't you complain and send me back to my family?"

"Do you _want_ to go back to the Dursleys?" asked the man, raising his eyebrows again. Harry would notice much later, when he was reminiscing, that he'd never told the janitor he lived with the Dursleys.

"Not at all!" protested Harry desperately, too wound up to notice now. "Please don't send me back!"

"Well, there you have it," said the man, "Now chop chop!"

Thinking that this man was undoubtedly crazy, Harry dipped his mop into a bucket of water near the door, and started cleaning the floor. He was used to such work at Privet Drive already.

He looked up again, doubtful. "Won't you report me to the authorities or the police?" he asked a bit fearfully.

"Didn't we just go over this?"

Harry ducked his head, abashed. He grabbed the broom, and went back to cleaning.

A few seconds later, he heard another _swish-swish_ sound join his. He turned to see that the janitor had grabbed a mop of his own and started cleaning as well.

Harry started again as another thought struck him, "My stuff!" he said in horror, "it's all ruined!" he said, feeling perilously close to tears.

The janitor rolled his eyes. "You don't stay still much, do you?" He muttered under his breath for a few seconds, before he said. "They're out to dry. I think they'll all make it, though. And before you ask, no, I did _not_ tell anybody anything when they came asking about you, and I don't plan to."

Harry felt gratified and puzzled at the same time. The Dursleys had come asking for him?

They couldn't have, he decided. It must have been Mrs. Figg, the Dursleys _hated_ him. They would probably be celebrating now that he was gone, hoping that he would end up dead in a ditch somewhere.

A heavy sigh broke him out of his thoughts. The janitor seemed to be extremely sad, for some reason.

Feeling strangely awkward, Harry decided to remain silent, concentrating on his work instead. He was surprised to admit that it was actually quite soothing; it helped him to wrap his head around everything that had happened recently.

They worked in companiable silence for a while. A year ago, Harry would have found this extremely strange and suspicious, but the last few months, and even the crazy night he remembered had changed him.

He decided to just go with the flow; the man didn't seem all that harmful, anyway.

"So," said the janitor after quite some time, "those are some interesting books you had in your bag."

"Don't worry," said the janitor, chuckling when he saw Harry stiffen. "I've seen stranger things in my career."

"Y-you know about wizards?" asked Harry, shocked.

"I'm a janitor, kid," the old man retorted gruffly. "I _know_ things."

Harry couldn't fault that logic. Maybe this man was an estranged wizard as well.

"So," the man began again, "you're a wizard, and you've got the whole world ahead of you know." He cocked his head to the side, "What do you plan to do?"

Harry stopped short, his swaying wrist coming to a halt. To his newfound shame, he really hadn't made any concrete plans.

"Judging from your face," said the man dryly, "I take it you have nothing."

Harry nodded embarrassedly, going back to his mopping, thinking hard all the while.

They worked in silence again for a while, until the old man broke the silence again.

"I suggest you roam about a bit," he said thoughtfully. "It's a beautiful world out there. Scary, but beautiful." His eyes took on a distinct look of longing. "To walk all over the world, be free..."

Harry stared out of the window, his mind already miles away. _Would it be so bad?_

He'd been stuck with the Dursleys for so long, and the cupboard had been his world. And now, the whole world really _was_ out there, for him to explore and see for himself.

The idea of that kind of freedom...was intoxicating, especially after he'd been stuck under a staircase for as long as he could remember.

"But," said Harry slowly, "what if people find me and send me back? I'm just a child, what if I get caught? Where do I stay?"

"Hmmm," said the old man, nodding his head. "That _is_ a problem."

They put their heads together and worked some more, thinking hard.

"Well..." began Harry tentatively, "if I could buy a tent – I think I have enough money to buy one –"

"Money you stole?" the words were a strange mix of a question and a sure statement.

Harry flushed, his ears turning red in shame. He hung his head, having no satisfactory answer to that.

Silence descended for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, only this one was markedly awkward. Harry could feel the janitor's eyes on him, and his guilt grew inexplicably. The Dursleys may have treated him badly over the years, but that didn't mean that he'd have to descend to the level of a petty thief to gain a measure of revenge against them.

"Well," said the man heavily, finally, "it's no use crying over spilt milk. You have money, and you can buy a tent."

"But there's still the chance of getting caught," said Harry mournfully.

_Swish, swish._ The mops moved in quick synchronisation for the last time, and then stopped.

They'd worked their way to the door together.

"Ah," said the old man happily, looking at the gleaming floor before him, "that's a clean floor, that is."

He took the mop of Harry's hand and placed it in the pail before hefting it up. "Come along then," the janitor told him, "no point waiting about now."

Harry obediently followed the janitor out of the school and into the sunlight outside. The world was now calm and bright, and no traces of the storm remained. The grass was crunchy under his feet, and the heady smell of fresh earth was delightful to his nose.

He stopped short, before giving a yell of delight. There, before his eyes, were all of his possessions, laid out on the ground to dry. He hurried over, and was further delighted to find that everything had passed through unscathed; though the books were a bit worse for the wear and the pages a bit puffy.

He flipped through them feverishly and was relieved to find that they were in perfect condition, before moving on to his other things.

"The torch was done for," said the old man wistfully, "but you can get one when you buy a tent, I'm sure. The food was beyond soggy, too." Harry nodded, not really paying attention as he passed his eyes over the books.

Behind him, the janitor chuckled, angling his cap so that it shielded his eyes from the sunlight. "Come along, son," he said, "I haven't got all the time in the world."

Harry turned, a bit embarrassed, but did as he was told. The janitor led him to the shed next to the playground, before motioning for him to wait outside. He deposited the bucket and mops in one corner, and then called Harry in.

The young wizard entered to find the janitor hunched over a box, rummaging through its contents. Harry stood in one corner, obedient to wait, while the man muttered to himself as he searched for something.

At long last, he turned, and said with a flourish, "Here!"

Harry stared at it. It seemed to be a long bedcover made out of a fluid silvery material which seemed to slip and slide over the janitor's hand like water. At the very end, a tiny tag was posted on it that read...

"Potter," Harry gasped as he mouthed it aloud, "What? I don't understand! How did you get this? Who does it belong to?"

"I'm cleaning up a mess, son," said the man, looking very, very old suddenly. "Just one of the bigger messes I need to clean."

"So this is a rag?" asked Harry automatically.

The stare he received in return would have made lesser men blush like a beacon, but Harry was too busy staring at the cloth – or the tag on it - to notice. He couldn't own something like this; the only things he had in this world now were odds and ends, most of which were stolen from the Dursleys.

Harry's stomach prickled a bit as he thought of his own theft, and he steeled himself. "But I don't own this," he protested, "I couldn't take it, it'd be stealing!"

"And here I thought you were bright," said the old man gruffly, though there was an approving look in his eyes, "I'm giving it to you, aren't I? It's yours now. Besides, it has your name on it."

"It's very pretty," began Harry hestitantly, trying a different route, "but I already have a blanket, thank you." He even doubted whether it could keep him cool on a warm night.

The man snorted, amused. "This isn't just any old blanket, son," he said, chortling, "here, take it."

He shoved it into Harry's hands, who had no choice but to offer a feeble thanks, though his interest was piqued by the old man's words.

"What does it do?" he asked curiously.

"And why would I tell you that?" said the old man, "how will you learn if I tell you anything?"

Harry's eyes lit up a bit at the challenge, but the old man forestalled him by raising his hand.

"Not now," he said, "I have to lock up the school and get going, I already crossed my overtime, anyway. They never think about paying me overtime," he added a bit angrily.

"Er," said Harry, not knowing what exactly to say. "Right. Thanks, though, for everything."

"I'm not done yet," said the old man, "I promised you an apple, didn't I?" Digging around in a cabinet, he pulled out the fruit and tossed it to Harry, who snatched it out of the air.

Looking down at the shiny red thing, he suddenly realised how hungry it was; it had been days since he'd eaten.

"Go ahead," said the janitor with a grin, "have at it. I'll go pack your stuff."

Harry began to protest, but he was shot down.

"Least I could do for a polite, helpful lad like you," the man admitted, and he walked out the shed, leaving Harry with the shiny blanket in one hand and an apple in another.

Needless to say, it was the apple that took up the whole of his attention, too.

It was a strangely filling meal, too; Harry amused himself by thinking that the fact that it was a fruit of labour made it all the more fulfilling.

His bag was ready and waiting on the grass when he made his way out, though, after a drink of water from the tap in one corner.

"Ready, are you, then?" the man asked, squinting down at him.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling inexplicably shy as he stuffed the blanket into his rucksack before hitching it onto his back.

"Thank you," he said, meaning every word of it. The janitor had talked to him, helped keep him away from the Dursleys, and even given him a strange if useful blanket. The old man just nodded, and together they walked to the school gates.

"Well," said the man, "this is it. Good luck, young wizard. Fare thee well on your journey!"

"Sir?" asked Harry tentatively, "are you a wizard as well? Could you teach me magic?" After all, this man knew of spellbooks, and also carried about cloaks which he claimed had extraordinary properties.

"I'm no wizard," said the janitor, chuckling, "but it's my job to know everything that goes on around here."

Harry found this answer wholly unsatisfying and even a bit misleading, so he asked a bit bluntly, "Who _are_ you?" suddenly realising with a jolt that he didn't even know who the man was.

He looked to his side, and gave a start. There was nobody there.

He stood there dumbly for a second or two, his conviction rising that this man had magic of his own – though he didn't seem the type to lie to a child.

He looked about for a second or two more, before sighing and walking off again, careful to avoid being seen.

He decided he'd ponder over everything later, the first thing on his agenda right now was to get a tent.

He also vowed that he'd somehow send back the money for everything he'd taken from the Dursleys as well.

* * *

"Mother," said Draco Malfoy imperiously, as his father had taught him, "I wish to be gifted a broomstick."

She looked down at the eight year old child, and wondered where she'd gone wrong with his upbringing. It seemed that the word 'please' was not a part of Draco Malfoy's vocabulary.

Where had she failed as a guardian?

Maybe it was something to do with the fact that Draco wasn't her son at all.

She felt that little pang that she felt every time when she looked upon the blonde boy, wishing that he could really have been her own flesh and blood.

It would have been a scandal of the highest order, if it had been made common knowledge that the Heir and Successor to Lucius Malfoy was a bastard son, borne out of wedlock since Narcissa Malfoy was barren.

Lucius never let her forget, even though they were the perfect couple to the world outside, of her own failings. He would not let her go, either, an alliance between the Blacks and the Malfoys was too important to ruin. Besides, Lucius wanted his share of the Black fortune, and Narcissa was the youngest Black daughter, the angel of the family.

It was her fault, all her fault. Her fault that she hadn't been able to gift Lucius with an heir to continue his line, _her_ fault that he had to seek out a covert affair to find an heir of his own.

She sighed, feeling the familiar tears well up behind her eyes. She froze, willing them to remain where they were. It would not do for the wife of Lucius Malfoy to cry, to show weakness.

It would not do to show Lucius' heir that weakness was a Malfoy trait.

"...are you listening, mother?" asked Draco, a bit irritated. Could she not hear that he wanted a broom, or did she not understand? What was she doing here, still waiting about?

"Say the magic word, Draco," she said with a tremulous smile, still unwilling to betray her true emotions. Just like a true daughter of Black.

"Magic word?" asked Draco, confused.

"I do believe she meant 'please', Draco," a silky voice drifted over from the door, and Lucius Malfoy walked in, the picture of the arrogant Pureblood Patriarch. "I think that will be unnecessary. Malfoys do..."

"Not beg, neither do they plead," finished Draco, and his father looked quite pleased, his lips curling up into a smirk. Draco puffed up his chest and sought to emulate his father's posture too, like all young boys do.

"Well done, son," said Lucius approvingly, "now, if I hear correctly, you need a broomstick?"

Draco nodded eagerly, his eyes alight. "My Shooting Star is slowing during the turns," he said sulkily, "and besides, there's a new broom in the stores, the Comet 220," he added wistfully.

Narcissa would have said that he needed to bend into the turns while leaning forward to put on speed while turning on a broken-in broom, but she kept quiet. It was not proper for a Pureblood Lady to do tasks such as fly or play Quidditch, so she could never tell Draco about the pick-up games the Black cousins would have at their old Manor out of their parents' eyeshot.

"Then I believe a trip to Diagon Alley is in order," said Lucius, and Narcissa wanted to scream in protest that his mindless spoiling of his son was _wrong_.

She tried, "Perhaps it would be best if Draco received the broom later? His birthday is in a few weeks, and he received the Shooting Star only seven months ago."

Draco looked between his two parents, uncertainty flitting over his pale face for a second until Lucius spoke.

"Well, the Malfoy Heir must have a proper broom, befitting of his status, Narcissa," said Lucius smoothly, his eyes chips of ice. "It would not do for Draco to ride a plebeian broom when there are better ones available for his benefit. Run along now, Draco, and change your clothes. We will leave in fifteen minutes."

The young Malfoy's face took on a smug look, and he strutted out of the room – as Lucius had taught him to – calling for Dobby to set out his robes.

"It would do well for you to remember, Narcissa," said Lucius coldly, as he turned and left to follow his son, "that despite your best efforts, Draco is _not_ _your son_. Do not presume to behave like he is."

And he left, leaving Narcissa to sit on the chair and stare blankly at the wall opposite her, her back ramrod straight. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away.

After all, a single drop of water couldn't melt an entire statue of ice.

* * *

"Sirius," spat Bellatrix, "you are a useless crock of steaming Hippogriff shit!"

She only got a raised, questioning eyebrow in reply, which incensed her further.

"You're the Lord Black," she fairly screamed, "why in the name of Morgana's twisted left nipple are you allowing yourself to languish inside the prison? The sooner you get out, the sooner I can get out too!"

Sirius' eyes had lit up at her hints, but he rolled his eyes at what she said next. "Why would I get you out?" he asked incredulously. "You're a deranged, murderous lunatic. You tortured two of my best friends into insanity!"

Bellatrix's entire demeanour changed. Her eyes became shadowed, her face fell, and for the first time, she looked like Azkaban truly had its effect on her.

"You...you never knew the whole truth, Siri," she said, whispering, and Sirius had to lean forward to listen better. "My marriage contract to Lestrange, it was hell. He put me under the Imperius, made me drink potions, he drove me mad, Sirius! I can't get a grip on my own mind now, and when I do, I'm appalled by what I've done, what I've become." Her eyes welled up with tears, "Help me, Siri, she pleaded, you have to help me."

Sirius' eyes were wide and shining with compassion. "Is this true?" he asked in a hushed voice. A tinge of anger coloured his voice, "Lestrange did this to you?!"

Bellatrix's demeanour changed instantenously again. "So gullible," she cackled, her eyes lighting up in glee, and Sirius leaned back, disgusted. "Yes, dear cousin, I would let that gutless bastard control me, Bellatrix Black, like I was a plaything. I was _forced_ to learnt the Dark Arts under him, _he_ drove me to madness. You...have to..._trust me..._" she said, her lip trembling, before she burst out into her insane laughter again.

Sirius would have changed into Padfoot, but he lacked the magical power still. Besides, he would never admit it to himself, but Bellatrix's company was preferable, rather than the emptiness of his Animagus form.

So he contented himself with flipping a bird at the woman opposite him, which only served to increase her mirth.

* * *

Harry tried not to think of his current predicament as he sat in his newly acquired tent – a tiny little thing - reading his books by the light of his new torch. The shopkeeper had been a bit suspicious when he'd asked for a tent, but he'd agreed readily enough when Harry told him that he was going trekking with family.

The shopkeeper had smiled before enthusiastically diving into a story of his own trekking days, and he'd even ended up giving Harry a free map of Great Britain, something which Harry was sure would prove invaluable in the days to come.

Using the map, he had successfully navigated the Surrey countryside over the past two days, and he was now in the middle of a scenic, wide open field, completely empty for miles around.

The tent hadn't come cheap despite its size, and he was running low on money. Food was consequently scarce, and he felt grungy and dirty, already having used both his pairs of clothing.

Thankfully, he'd found a brook nearby, clean enough to drink from and to wash his clothes in. They were now set outside to dry overnight, seeing as it was extremely dry weather.

Forsaking his tent, he crawled outside and lay down on the grass outside, reading by the torchlight. He'd look up every now and then, marvelling at the star-speckled sky above him, trying his best to make out what few constellations he knew.

He was currently reading up on the Lumos Charm, having decided to start off from the very beginning and work his way up through the books.

He felt like smacking his head when he saw that spells required wand movements as well, something he'd skipped over when he'd last read the book. In his defense, though, he was hysterical at the time of the reading.

He held out his wand, gave it a little upward flick like the book said, and incanted clearly, _'Lumos!'_

He felt like crying out in frustration when nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen during his successive tries.

Feeling angry and depressed, he chucked the Standard Book of Spells away, taking up the Transfiguration text instead.

And it was here that he realised his mistake.

_Magic, especially Transfiguration, focuses heavily on intent. While wand movements and enunciation is necessary, the student must have a clear idea about what he or she is to attempt, while casting the spell for the first time. Later practice will allow the user to cast spells without any attempt, though, depending on the witch or wizard's mastery of the spell or subject._

The paragraph continued in this vein for some time, until Harry realized his mistake. So far, he'd simply been waving wands and saying the words, waiting for the results to happen.

He had to focus on what he wanted; simply wanting it wasn't enough, according to the book.

He stared hard at his wand, imagining the top lighting up like the illustration in the book. After a second, he relaxed, feeling that frustration would lead him nowhere.

He let the calmness around him seep into him as well, and he took a deep breath. Imagining the wand tip lighting up, he chanted, _'Lumos.'_

A small flame-like light sprung up at the apex of the dark wood, sending adrenaline and joy rushing through his veins.

He jumped to his feet with a yell of success, waving his wand about like a loon and dancing about in delight.

'_Lumos! Lumos!'_ he yelled in glee, and the light shivered each time he chanted the spell now, _"Lumos all the way!" _he gave a quick cheer, which yielded unexpected results.

He gasped as a ball of light shot out of the end of his wand and hovered above his head, glowing mildly, and lighting up the green scenery around him with a golden glow.

"Lumos all the way?" he asked uncertainly, envisioning the ball of light, and another one sped out of his wand, joining the one already in the air.

His eyes widened. Had he just invented a spell of his own? He glanced at his wand tip, which was now devoid of any light. Or had he simply spoken a spell without knowing it?

"Lumos all the?" he asked, speaking fast to emulate the way he'd spoken first. The ball flew out again. "Lumos all?" he asked, speaking clearly this time.

Nothing happened.

"Lumosall?" he ventured, and was rewarded with another ball of light. He grinned. "Lumosall!" he repeated, and again, and again, and soon, the field was lit up by little balls of light, some of them already fading, while the others bounced about merrily as the young boy laughed and prodded them with the end of his wand.

Passers-by would have found it extremely strange, but thankfully the countryside was completely deserted at night.

Unfortunately for Harry, the Department of Improper Use of Magic found it stranger than their normal work. Aurors were notified of the extreme saturation of magic in a Muggle area, and Cadet Williamson and Auror Shacklebolt were dispatched immediately.

_Pop! Pop!_

Harry stiffened when he heard the unmistakeable sound of teleportation reach his ears through the silence of the night sky, carrying over the open fields. After a split moment, he raced for his tent, picking up his clothes in the process, along with his books.

He hastily threw them in the bag, hitching it over his shoulder before dismantling the tent as fast as he could, thanking the heavens that it was a small and simple thing. He had a small heart attack when he heard the sound of two gasps, but he continued feverishly anyway, hoping that they hadn't noticed him yet, and were simply marvelling at the sight outside.

And indeed, they were. Both officers drew in sharp, shocked breaths as they beheld the magnificent sight before them; the sight of wide open fields, and over fifty little balls of light hovering over the rippling grass, swaying slightly in the wind.

"It's beautiful," said Williamson, his eyes reflecting the light from the scene before him, "_Amazing_."

Kingsley nodded, his eyes mirroring her wonder. "I don't think this qualifies as a threat," he said, in his deep, gravelly voice, "it's obviously a modified version of the Lumos charm, see the pale colour of the light?" he pointed out. "Though we might need to apprehend whoever caused it and let them off with a warning. Doing so much magic in one place alerted the sensors, and could have attracted some curious Muggles too."

Harry froze behind the bushes, where he'd set up the tent when he overheard the conversation. These policemen would catch him...he'd be sent back to the Dursleys.

There was no escape, not even a tree to climb. Hoping for the best, he pulled out the blanket the Janitor had given him, before pulling it over himself and his bag. The cloth made it all the way round, but only just. He snuggled into the base of the bush, hoping that he'd go undetected.

_Crack!_

A branch or twig snapped, and Harry's heart jumped in his throat.

"There!" shouted Williamson, pointing at the bush from which the sound had come. With a lazy flick of Kingsley's wand, the bush vanished, leaving him bare under the blanket for the entire world to see.

Harry was now silently mouthing a prayer to God in his panic, but he blinked in shock when nothing happened even after he was exposed.

"Probably disillusioned themselves," said Kingsley, before raising his wand again. "I can't see him."

A crazy idea drifted into Harry's brain, something so wild that it set his heart racing with the possible consequences.

_'Homenum Revelio'_ Kingsley waved his wand, and Williamson whistled.

"The Human Presence Revealor," she said appreciatively, "nice."

Harry felt a curious sensation sweep over him, like a probing gentle gust of wind, but he remained undiscovered.

"No one there," said Kingsley, "what the-?"

He was cut off when Harry heard two more gasps echo through the field.

"Muggles," swore Kingsley, and Harry, in his supine position, surmised that Muggles were probably non-magical people. "Let's go meet them."

Harry held his breath as the two officers walked right passed him, dressed in strange red cloaks, without looking at him once.

Despite his suspicion growing with every passing second, he wasted no time. Getting to his feet, he hitched up his rucksack, making sure the blanket was still above him. Walking as fast as he could, he made his way away from the two Aurors now Confunding the Muggles.

A wide grin spread over his face when he finally deemed himself safe, and he made sure to set up the tent this time with the Invisibility Blanket draped atop it. It would prove to be an invaluable asset.

Only later that night, while reading through the section on Demiguises in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ before going to bed, would he realize that he was now the proud owner of an Invisibility Cloak.

* * *

**Author's Note: Unexpected early update. Huzzah!**

**Before anybody asks, the Janitor in the story, who has completed his first and last appearance, is...it's up to you to decide.**

**And before any of you nitpick, it irks me, it physically irks me, that the one of the famed _Deathly Hallows_ can be overcome by a HR charm. Not happening here.**

**Oh, and no, Harry can't be traced. Reasons later.**

**The spell is _Lumos Sol_. While the canon version is _Lumos Solem, _who cares?**


	4. Warlocks, Werewolves and Vampires

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Harry Potter. Beware, for this chapter contains more circular writing, a Good Dumbledore - because bashing is just so mainstream – and competent Aurors. Yes, you read that right. Also, unbeta'ed. Like everything I write.**

**Chapter 4: Warlocks, Werewolves, and Vampires**

* * *

_There are different kinds of thirst in the world._

_And there is only power, and those too weak to seek it._

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Withcraft and Wizardry**

**Late August, 1988**

Albus Dumbledore was worried.

Harry Potter was missing.

Hence, Albus Dumbledore's worrying.

He had tried Apparating all over the United Kingdom; he'd tried interrogating every link to Harry Potter, from his family to his elementary school teacher. He had even tried to try and use the Blood Wards around Privet Drive to try and trace Harry.

He'd failed miserably on all counts.

Harry Potter was still missing.

And Albus Dumbledore was growing increasingly worried.

The boy had been gone for almost three weeks, and it was getting increasingly difficult to keep the news of his disappearance from the public. The Auror office was going berserk trying to track the boy down, and Rita Skeeter had been seen skulking around the Ministry – always a bad sign.

Almost like clockwork, Albus reached out for the magical register that lay near his desk. Turning to the list of students who would be joining Hogwarts in about a couple of years, he breathed a sigh of relief as Harry's name showed up in the tiny cursive script.

Contrary to popular belief – even amongst the staff of his school – this was his only means of tracking the Boy-Who-Lived beyond the regular updates from Mrs. Figg. Any devices to track Harry would have been nullified by the wards around his house, and despite his many shortcomings, Albus had never considered spying on a child one of his priorities.

The Headmaster's blue eyes bored into the three words on the page, trying to make sense of the mystery that was the boy.

_Harry James Potter._

The fact that the name was still on the book indicated that the boy was still alive, though there was no guarantee for his health or sanity.

He was jerked out of his musing by a knock on the door, and he called out, "Come in, Minerva!"

His Deputy walked into the room, her lips a thin line. "One of these days, Albus," she said dryly, "I'm going to figure out how you always know who's outside the office door."

Dumbledore merely smiled at her and made sure that the map on his desk was still charmed to be visible only to him. While it was a truly wonderful piece of magic, it wasn't one of a kind, though.

He chuckled as he remembered the original which he had filched from his caretaker's office and duplicated; of course he'd dutifully remembered to return it to its rightful place later. It wouldn't do to not give future pranksters in the school an edge against the school.

He chuckled a bit more at this train of thought – from what his network told him, the map would probably fall into the hands of the young Weasley twins, who would start school the following year.

"Albus!" Minerva's sharp voice brought him out of his thoughts again, and he turned his attention to her.

Seeing that Dumbledore was now listening, McGonagall drew herself up to full height, and asked, "I take it that the boy hasn't been found?"

He shook his head no, and the proud light in Minerva's eyes seemed to diminish somewhat. "How can he have disappeared, Albus? Do you think some Dark Wizard got hold of -?"

She couldn't finish her question; the thought of the son of two of her favourite students' son being kidnapped or even harmed seemed to terrify her.

"No," said Albus, "any Dark Wizard would have been driven off by the protections around Harry's house, Minerva. It seems the child left of his own volition –"

"And why would he do that, Albus?" asked Minerva, her eyes narrowing.

Albus hestitated for the first time, and McGonagall caught it at once. Her mind working blazingly fast, she immediately came to the worst – and correct – conclusion.

"I told you, Albus!" she said, her nostrils flaring. "I _told _you, they were the worst kind of Muggles possible. I shudder to think of how they might have treated him, that he was driven to run away from home!"

"Now, Minerva..."

"Don't Minerva me, Headmaster," he winced at her formal manner of address. "This could have all been avoided if you had _listened_ to me in the first place."

She was getting increasingly incensed; almost out of instinct, Albus' hand tightened against the hilt of his wand.

Immediately, he could feel his senses grow sharper, every detail grow a bit clearer, every sound a bit louder. And immediately, he could hear the crooning whispers in his mind.

It was almost automatic how he tamped down on them with his Occlumency, though they persisted, always haunting a tiny corner of his mind.

"He could be lying face-down, _dead_ in a ditch somewhere for all we know –"Minerva had descended into a rant now, but Albus cut her off.

"No," he said firmly. "No, I'm sure he isn't dead."

He pointed to the magical register, and he could see the relief and understanding flash across her face.

"He's alive, Minerva, and he's out there somewhere."

"But surely you can find him then," protested Minerva. "Albus, if anyone can find him, it's you. You're the most powerful wizard of the age!"

_Power, yesss._ Almost at once, the volume of the voices in his head grew louder. Fighting the thrall of the Elder wand, he managed to say, "You flatter me, Minerva, but I have tried my best."

"It seems my best isn't good enough," he finished heavily.

"But Albus," desperation flashed across the aged Transfiguration Mistress' age. Her voice descending to a whisper, she leaned forward to address him.

"Surely you felt it too, that night?" she asked him. "There was a shift, a shift in the balance of power somewhere. There are rumours flying about Albus, and for once, I fear that the people are right in suspecting the Boy-Who-Lived."

Yes, Albus had felt it that night. He told his Deputy as much.

"The last time the Wizarding World felt anything like that, Albus, was during – "

"Halloween 1981, yes," Albus completed her sentence, and she nodded in agreement.

"You don't think – it's him, Albus? Could a little boy be powerful enough to cause such tremors all over Magical Britain?"

"He can, yes," he quietly confirmed. The last such tremor he'd personally felt was during the early stages of what the Muggles called the Second World War.

When a certain boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle had been born.

Albus sat back in his chair, his brain working furiously. Recognizing the signs, Minerva let him spend some time thinking; content to wait.

Without a word, Albus stood up sharply and strode over to the phoenix resting on the perch next to his desk.

He was gone in a flash of flame.

* * *

_There are many different kinds of thirst._

_The first and foremost, of course, is the thirst that all men suffer from, the thirst for water._

_The second, that is also common amongst men, is the thirst for freedom. Only rightly has freedom been called Man's greatest right._

_The third, which is common, but not rampant, is the thirst for company. This can come in many forms – friendship, family, and love, to name a few._

_The list goes on and on, but the rarest of thirsts – which can be quenched, that is – is the thirst of power. Throughout the ages, a single thirst has connected all men who have risen from their normal, monotonous lives, and become something...greater._

_The thirst of power._

_For of course, there is only power and those too weak to seek it._

* * *

**British Countryside**

**Hours Later**

Harry Potter was in a tree.

While this may not seem the best way to introduce a hero, there was a very specific reason for him to take to the art of tree-climbing.

The light from the full moon shone down on the branches, falling through the leaves and bathing the lonely glade he was in a patchwork of dark green and silver.

Harry was strangely hypnotized by the combination of the two colours.

And to think, only this morning, he had been entranced by the hints of red and gold slowly taking over the world around him.

A howl broke him out of his reverie, and he was brought back to terrifying reality. Panicking, he flipped through his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

Why was it always him who ended up in such terrible situations?

Short snout.

_Check._

Thin coat of fur.

_Check._

Small upper limbs, with a tendency to move on its hind limbs unless running.

_Check._

Fearsome claws.

_Check._

Unless he was much mistaken, there was a wild werewolf running around the copse.

Gulping, he shifted under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak and read the next few sentences.

_Extremely painful - can even kill – almost superhuman and speed –scars inflicted will never disappear -_

He gulped again. Nothing seemed to be particularly encouraging, not even the five X's next to the heading. The only piece of advice given was that they were vulnerable to silver. He angrily shoved the book back into his bag, cursing his luck for dropping him into such situations.

He shifted again, and then almost fell off the tree in shock when he brushed up against a shoulder.

Sitting next to him, dangling her legs and smiling brightly at him, was the strange girl from the rooftop.

"You!" he hissed, and then flinched wildly when another howl rang out through the area. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes took on a distant look for a second, before she focused on him and just shrugged somewhat apologetically.

"It's not safe here!" he whispered frantically, "there's a werewolf around! You could die!"

"So could you," she retaliated, her voice extremely casual; almost like she was commenting on the weather.

Harry was startled by her offhanded comment he almost fell off the tree again. Were all girls this rude?

"Can werewolves climb trees?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly, as he concentrated on a more pressing matter.

"I don't know," he girl said conversationally."Do you think we'll find out?"

Harry looked at her like she was insane. Remembering their little dance on the rooftops, he decided that she probably was.

"They have extremely sensitive noses," he said fearfully. "I only had time to shove my tent in the bush underneath us before I climbed the tree," he explained. "I thought it was a wolf at first, but it turned out to be something much worse."

He turned, and was incensed to find the girl counting stars in the sky.

"Hey!" he said, feeling a bit angry. "You could help me out here!"

"I dunno," she said, shrugging again. "If you had time to climb the tree with that bag on your back, you have time to figure something out on your own."

Despite the situation, Harry blushed. "I couldn't leave it behind. It's my entire world in there..." he trailed off, realizing something.

"Hey, you can see me!" he exclaimed, "even when I'm under the Cloak!"

"I can?" she asked, turning to see him. "You're under a Cloak!" she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Their conversation was cut short when a dark figure thrashed into their sight, before stopping on its haunches. Harry went completely still as the werewolf lifted its head and sniffed the air.

The girl's hand clamped down hard on his, and he revelled in the fact that he wasn't alone during this terrible moment. The werewolf tilted its head, as if confused, before it retreated back into the darkness.

Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His heart pounding, he turned to check on his companion –

"Are you smelling my cloak?" he asked incredulously.

The girl blushed a bit, before saying, "I had a cloak once. It smelt funny."

For some reason, the way she said it made Harry inexplicably sad.

"Well, you can share mine for now if you want," he offered kindly, though he was somehow loath to do so.

The girl looked at him inscrutably for a long, long moment, before she finally cracked a smile.

"Thanks," she said, "I think I will."

He lifted the edge of his cloak, and she shifted next to him. The Cloak was big enough for both of them to fit comfortably under it, and the warmth of another person so close to him was surprisingly welcome after nearly three weeks of solitude.

"Thank you," she repeated, and he only nodded embarrassedly.

Until she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Harry moved away so fast he might as well have been electrocuted. While doing so, he did not notice the dark triangle that appeared on his cheek for a moment, before it faded away into nothingness.

"What was that for?" he hissed, furiously rubbing at his cheek like he had been possessed.

First there was a werewolf that might kill him at any second, and now this girl was giving him _cooties?!_

Was the entire world out to kill him?

His terror was replaced by fear of another kind, though, when he heard a snarl right beneath his tree. Almost afraid to move down, he shifted to find a pair of glittering dark eyes looking up at him.

"Damn," muttered Harry, and he didn't even feel the childish satisfaction from using the only curse word he knew.

There was a moment of silence – a long, stretched out moment – as the werewolf looked up at the seemingly empty tree above it.

Harry, equally quietly, stared down at the terrifying creature below.

And then the werewolf started tearing at the tree like mad, almost dislodging poor Harry from his branch.

Harry almost screamed, but his throat seemed to choke at the last moment. He pulled out his wand, taking comfort in the familiar warmth.

But it was very small comfort, indeed.

The werewolf was now snapping at the trunk, saliva dripping down his muzzle. Harry found himself so scared that he seemed to be rooted to the tree. He furiously told himself that he was only imagining the slightest of wetness in his pants.

Almost as if by magic, he felt his pants warm and then dry. Between bouts of panic, he realized that it _was_ probably magic anyway.

He felt a tug on his hand, and suddenly he was pulled up decisively by girl. The Cloak slipped from around him, but he suddenly realised that the little girl was wearing it instead. Which meant –

The werewolf howled and redoubled its efforts as the little boy came into view. Harry was glad that he'd managed a Feather-light charm on his bag, he was sure that he would have overbalanced or fallen over otherwise.

At the very thought, the girls hands seemed to tighten around his wrist.

"Let's dance," she said with another crazy grin, and Harry almost wet his pants in fear again.

His protest was rapidly swallowed, though, when she pulled on him with her inhuman strength and whirled him around.

The werewolf howled in anger as the rock it had thrown whizzed past Harry's head.

Harry realized that this meant bad news; if the beast was smart enough to switch tactics.

Another projectile went whistling over his hair as the girl led him onto a slight dip in the branch.

"Stop this madness," he hissed, unmindful of how he was twisting around the items the werewolf was throwing at him. "We're going to _die_! Stop!"

"Ok," she said blandly, and stopped so suddenly that Harry stumbled into her. A broken branch whizzed past her back, and Harry's eyes widened as he realized what was going on.

And without warning she restarted her crazy dance, and the werewolf below howled in anger as the boy dodged all his weapons with inhuman ease.

They twisted and twirled and dipped and swayed, avoiding the werewolf's projectiles, unmindful of his attempts to shake them out of the tree by butting the trunk.

"Spells," she said suddenly, and Harry, who was almost getting into the dance, snapped his attention to her. Seizing his right hand, which was still carrying his wand, she commanded, "Cut."

Her voice had changed, it was suddenly irresistible, hypnotizing. Almost in a trance, he raised his hand, and incanted, '_Diffindo.'_

Nothing happened, and she hissed in displeasure.

_It wasn't his fault_, Harry thought in a split second, _the wand seemed almost unwilling to perform any destructive spells._

"Again!" she commanded, and Harry concentrated as they halted for a split second.

'_Diffindo!'_

The branch opposite them began falling, and she barked, "Transfigure!"

Harry did the first spell that came to his mind, the first Transfiguration spell he'd mastered from his books.

The splinters at the end of the broken branch gleamed reflected the colour of the moonlight as the branch fell to the ground.

"And now," said the girl, a smile appearing on her face, "we bow."

She bent backwards, pulling Harry down, and then yanked his hand forward.

"Push," Harry was instinctively pushing even before she commanded him to.

He had said no words – as he would realize months later – but nevertheless, the branch shot forward like a canon and embedded itself into the werewolf's foot forcefully.

The werewolf howled ear-splittingly in pain, collapsing to the ground. At the same time, the girl let go of Harry and pushed.

He found himself hanging from the branch, and the girl hissed, "Go."

And she was gone.

Clutching the bare cloak, Harry slid down to the ground, stuffing his most prized possession hastily into the bag. He was almost in tears from the fear as he saw the outline of the werewolf mere feet away from him.

He seized his tent, thankful for its small size and the charm on it as well, working furiously to shrink it. For once, his magic responded at once, and he shoved it haphazardly into his pocket and took off running like crazy.

Behind him, the werewolf moaned. It struggled to get to its feet, and Harry took that advantage to put as much distance as he could between the creature and himself.

The wolf managed to stand, but collapsed back to one knee almost immediately, its infecting right foot refusing to bear his full weight.

Harry turned ever so slightly to check on his quarry, and half-moaned when he saw the werewolf lowering itself to its forelimbs.

With a howl, the creature took off, and the tears started falling down his cheeks in earnest.

The werewolf, even though it was injured, gained ground at a prodigious rate. Within seconds, Harry could feel the ground under his feet trembling slightly as it neared him.

When he was certain he could almost feel its breath on his feet, he suddenly found the strange girl running next to him. She seized his hand just as the werewolf snapped its jaws, and Harry could _feel_ the back of his pants tear away.

Instead of the usual ice-cream –through-straw sensation though, the world contracted around him and suddenly he was in a completely new surroundings, the werewolf no longer behind him.

He realized through his tear-blurred vision that he was nearly fifty metres away from where he had been a second ago, somehow moving through the distance in a matter of seconds. Nearly stumbling in shock, he somehow kept running.

Next to him, the girl started laughing, an exhilarated, free laugh, and he suddenly found himself joining in.

Again, the werewolf neared, and again, the world around him contracted.

Another burst of magic, and he was transported metres ahead of his original position, almost like he'd received an inhuman burst of speed.

The werewolf howled in frustration, and even though Harry's energy was beginning to sag, he laughed in earnest, a crazy, adrenaline fuelled laugh.

On and on they went in the ridiculous game of Chase, until the place Harry had sought directions to that very morning came into view.

It was a small two-storeyed building, lying on the outskirts of the village he knew was a few miles away. Raising his wand as he bulleted up the front stairs, he roared _'Alohomora'_ and heard the locks on the door clicking open audibly in response to his magic.

He had only managed to make it inside and put the first couple of deadbolts in place before the werewolf crashed against the door, almost throwing him back.

Hands shaking like mad, he somehow managed to lock the door and back away, quivering in fear as the werewolf rammed wildly into the door again and again.

He turned to the girl, but she only winked reassuringly. Then she was gone.

At the same time, a flash of light so bright it illuminated the entire room nearly blinded Harry. There was a deafening bang and a yelp – he was sure it was the werewolf – before he heard the sound of something being hurled bodily against the ground.

He never had the time to investigate, though. He felt something sharp puncture his neck, and he fell into the oblivion of darkness.

* * *

_Albus Dumbledore may have been old, but he definitely wasn't senile, thank you very much._

_He prided himself on being meticulous, being able to seek out patterns, where others saw none._

_And the most obvious link between himself, Voldemort, and Harry was power. And while he agreed he didn't know too much about either Voldemort or Harry, he knew enough about himself._

_And remembering the time that he had run away from his own home in a fit of childish pique, he began to actively rifle through the minds of Muggles in the towns in and around little Whinging for a little child asking for directions to the nearest school._

_For he fondly remembered how Percival had found him under the window of his village's school, listening raptly to the tale of Merlin's conquest of Morgana._

_In conclusion, there is power and those too weak to seek it. But true knowledge - as those who have risen to power know – and the thirst to seek it out, is the first step to gaining it._

* * *

Dumbledore hit gold in a town nearly seventy miles away from Surrey, and he had been impressed by Harry's tenacity.

His emotions, though, had ranged between fear and wonder, though, as he rapidly pieced together what had happened that night.

The full moon, the foot and paw prints, and the magic cloying the air were all clear indications of what had happened. There was no doubting that it was Harry who had been at the centre of all this, because the magic had been pure and raw, like all children's were.

He did stop short and rack his brains, though, when he saw the traces of the spell Harry had left behind. It was familiar, yet seemed rather obscure at the same time.

His face split into a wide grin as he realized what Harry had done. "The Charge Step," he whispered in amazement, equal amounts of pride and wariness filtering through him.

Better known as Sight-Line Apparating, it was the ability to jump to distant locations in a straight line, as long as they were in the line of sight. Highly useful in duels, and highly advanced magic for a mere child.

Amazement outweighed apprehension, though, because the sheer innocence he could taste in the magic drove all fear he had of another young Riddle from his mind. With a burst of flames, Fawkes appeared next to him, drawn by the feelings he was experiencing.

"Beautiful, is it not?" he asked in a whisper, almost afraid to disturb the sanctity of the magic, so pure it seemed. It was such a shame that Harry, like all children, would slowly outgrow this purity with age.

The phoenix let out a melodious trill of agreement, but there was a sense of urgency in his familiar's voice.

Driven back to the current situation, Dumbledore immediately drew his wand and began duplicating Harry's jumps, until he came upon the duo of Aurors battling the werewolf. With his help, the beast was put down in seconds.

"Second time this week, Professor," said the Auror whom he recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt, "and seventh time this month. Release of large amounts of magic, and the target avoids us every time. Only this time," he kicked at the prone form of the werewolf lying on the ground, "we find Greyback messing around."

Albus smiled at this news, happy that one of the worst criminals in recent memory had finally been apprehended. The smile slid off his face, though, as he confidently made his way into the school only to find it empty.

But instead of a little boy, he found traces of a very special brand of Apparition, one that was employed only by –

_Vampires,_ thought Albus, disbelief showing on his face. _What next?_

* * *

Harry groggily opened his eyes to the sound of voices.

"Do you think you overdosed him?" asked a female voice, rich in tone and timbre.

"Of course not, darling," another voice assured her, deep and powerful. "He's already awake."

Giving up the game, Harry opened his eyes, and found himself in a strange stone room. It was completely bare except for the bed he was lying on, and a small window through which moonlight was filtering in.

Three figures loomed over him. Two of them were tall and pale, with sharp, aristocratic features and glowing, almost iridescent eyes. Male and female, they exuded an indomitable presence, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was in the presence of royalty.

The third was much younger, with tiny fangs poking out of the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were a light blue, and framed by tresses of dark hair.

"Father," she piped up without any warning, "I find this human pleasing to look at. I wish to marry him."

Harry's thoughts were highly similar to those of the Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry right then.

_What next?_

Harry groaned.

* * *

**Author's note: Well, that's that for now. Before you start throwing tomatoes at me for being so irregular in updating, I'd like to point out that my Grandmother passed away near the end of 2012. As such, it hasn't been easy to write a fic with a weird, crazy-girl version of Death. I do try, though. The second of Harry's helpers – tutors? – companions? – To supposed greatness has been revealed.**

**Note: These vampires do NOT sparkle. And they won't, not even if you cast the Sparklicus Totalus charm on them.**

**And hints abound in this chapter, hints abound. The question remains – is it really the **_**silver and green**_** of the night that attracts Harry, or the **_**red and gold **_**of fast-approaching autumn?**

**Read and review, you know you HAVE to. **


	5. A Magic Beyond Wands

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR or Robert Frost-related, whose work is paraphrased in this chapter. Don't be alarmed by the Vampires' interaction with Harry – after all, he does bear a rather unique mark from a rather unique woman. And also, this chapter marks the return of the twisted Black family! Full steam ahead, I say!**

**WARNING: Line breaks mark the change of narrative in the chapter.**

**Chapter 5: A Magic Beyond Wands**

_Auror Dawlish prided himself on being completely thorough. He prided himself on being meticulous, on being able to approach a problem from every angle, on leaving no stone unturned while searching for answers._

_Which is why he'd asked Albus Dumbledore to accompany him to the DMLE for his statement concerning the capture of Fenrir Greyback._

_The wizard in question was currently strolling alongside Dawlish through the atrium, resplendent in his purple-robed glory. With the professional eye that he was so proud of, Dawlish gave the man a once-over, searching for any possible hidden weapons on his frame._

_Dumbledore noticed him looking, and he smiled gently at the Auror as they walked into the lift. _

_Dawlish stiffened as the Headmaster's eyes began twinkling and the old wizard plunged his hand into his pocket. Subconsciously tightening his grip on his wand's handle, he waited for the man to draw any possible weapons._

"_Sherbet Lemon?" Had he been a lesser Auror, Dawlish would have tripped in surprise, but he managed to catch himself._

_Only just._

_Eyeing the sweet neutrally, he twisted the wand in his pocket very slowly. The sweet held no traces of poison or any other harmful substances, or so his magic was telling him._

"_Yes, thank you," he said, not too keen on the sweet, but not wanting to disrespect the great man before him. Obviously the man was going senile, though, if he was handing around candy randomly._

_Dumbledore beamed at him, and it took all of Dawlish's self control not to recoil in suspicion. Reaching out, he plucked the proffered sweet from Dumbledore's hand, but instead of popping it into his mouth, he moved it around awkwardly in his hand._

_The lift announced that they had reached their designated floor, and Dumbledore waited till the grilles crashed open before striding out. _

"_Coming, Charles?" he asked genially, "I can find my way to the office if you want, maybe you'd want to practice that revealing charm. Twist and jab, if I remember correctly? I would advise you not to worry about the Lemon, though I do commend you on your awareness."_

"_Simply marvellous!" the Headmaster commented, almost as if Dawlish had personally pleased him greatly, before walking off smartly._

_The grilles to the lift slammed shut in between the two men, leaving Dawlish standing rather foolishly inside it._

* * *

Harry was currently pretending very hard that he was imagining things.

"I don't care, Father. Do you not see that he is perfect for me?"

"Darling, one simply cannot state that they want to marry people, it is considered rude or even alarming in wizard culture! Besides, aren't you too young to get married?"

Harry was also pretending that he was not currently nursing a growing headache.

"I'm nine years old, father," the little vampire replied imperiously, ignoring the twitching of her father's lips. "I think it is time I took a partner."

"But sweetheart," the elder female said, "he is but a human, surely you cannot be thinking of such an union?"

The merry glint in her eyes clearly showed that she was jesting, but the little girl's lower lip began trembling ever so slightly, while Harry's right eye twitched ever so slightly when he surmised that he'd been insulted.

Despite the fact that he was at the mercy of three five star Dark creatures, Harry was also pretending that he wasn't growing a bit irritated.

Spending a sleepless night being chased by a werewolf and then being abducted by vampires can do that to even the most even-tempered of people.

But since Harry was polite, he coughed slightly, trying to gain their attention.

Thankfully, the male heard him.

Silence fell in the room, and Harry couldn't help giving a slight sigh of relief.

His headache lightened somewhat.

"Er," said the Vampire rather eloquently, before clearing his throat somewhat. "Hello, Harry Potter," he said, "I am Merlot."

He extended his hand. Harry took it, and found that it was rather cool. He wished he had something similar for his headache.

"A pleasure to meet you," he offered tentatively, and the vampire smiled.

"This is my wife Lynd, and our daughter Vesper," he said, indicating the two women in the room. The latter smiled at him, but he felt a cold shiver go down his spine.

Being the polite young man he was, though, he managed a weak smile in her direction.

The urge to forget his manners was rapidly increasing, though, as he took in the situation and tried to think a way out of this predicament.

"You won't hurt me, will you?" he blurted out, "I mean, all I want to do is return to my, er, journey –"

Harry stopped short suddenly.

The little girl was suddenly standing next to him, _sniffing_ him. Harry jerked away in shock, but she was encircling him with thin but surprisingly strong arms.

Harry did not like hugs for one, and he was also mildly freaked out by the way the little girl's eyes drifted shut and she almost cooed in delight.

"Vesper!" exclaimed her mother, scandalised, moving over to pry her daughter off the wizard. "You simply can't sniff people without their permission. I don't care if his blood smells alluring –"

Lynd broke off abruptly, her nose twitching as she came in proximity of Harry. Before he knew it, Harry was being sniffed at by two female vampires.

The twitch in Harry's eye increased exponentially, and his entire body stiffened.

Both Vampire's recoiled from him like they'd been shocked.

Judging by the way that Vesper was rubbing her arms and staring at him with pouting lips, they _had _been shocked.

"My apologies," said Lynd, "I lost control of myself for a second. Merlot, darling, I think you should stay away from him."

"Why?" asked Merlot curiously, his eyes fixed on Harry.

"He smells...different," said Lynd, looking almost longingly at Harry's face – rather, his cheek, which she'd isolated as the source of the scent. "Like _sleep._"

Merlot's eyes widened, and he turned to Harry. Ignoring his wife's warning, he neared Harry slightly, breathing the air around him deeply.

The Vampire stopped short, stunned. His eyes glazed over, and suddenly, he looked like he was remembering a long forgotten dream.

"The woods," he breathed quietly, his eyes far, far away, "the woods are lovely, dark and deep." Despite the strange situation he was in, Harry felt something inside him stir at the sheer longing in the Vampire's voice.

"But you have promises to keep," said his wife, equally quiet, "miles to go before you sleep, love," she ended in a whisper.

"Miles to go before I sleep," agreed Merlot in a whisper, his eyes misty.

He remained in the trance-like state for a few more moments before he jerked himself back to the present forcefully. Clearing his throat awkwardly, and looking at Harry in wonder, he spoke.

"You carry a strange scent about you, Harry Potter. You are a strange wizard, indeed."

Something about the situation finally penetrated Harry's brain. He'd been so disbalanced by the sequence of events that he hadn't realized it before.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked the vampire, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Merlot started, looking at Harry in surprise. When the vampire saw that Harry was not being deceitful in the slightest, his face took on a look of wonder.

"Surely you are not serious?" he asked; then added, "this changes things."

"Everybody knows your name, silly!"

Harry turned to look at Vesper, flabbergasted by her sudden outbreak. Had he been on the news, had the Durlseys reported him missing?

Somehow he found it hard to believe.

"My Lord," they were interrupted at that moment by another vampire who'd walked into the room carrying an enormous silver tray. As he set it on the table, his eyes fell on Harry and they widened almost comically.

"Leave us, Lestrade," said Merlot, addressing the servant imperiously. "And I don't want to hear of any rumours in the castle, do you understand?"

The servant nodded respectfully, and bowed respectfully before leaving the room – his eyes still on Harry.

"See?" asked Vesper smugly; the girl was beginning to annoy him now.

"Eat, Harry," said Merlot, handing him a plate of food. Harry, who'd been surviving on the cheapest food possible along with packets of biscuits for nearly a month almost, drooled at the sight of the exquisite food on the plate.

Silence descended on the room as the four inhabitants turned their attention to their breakfast, though Harry's mind was whirling.

Was he somehow famous? Vesper's words and the servant's reaction seemed to reinforce that idea, but he wasn't the only one whom Lestrade had appeared to be respectful to.

"If you don't mind me asking," began Harry carefully, "why did the other V– Lestrade, address you as My Lord?"

Merlot grimaced a bit, before he answered.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself, Harry," he asked, "I am King Merlot the Third, Leader of the United Covens of Britain."

Harry inhaled in shock; he was in the presence of royalty. He shot to his feet, but then shuffled around awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

He was halfway stuck between a nod and a bow when Merlot chuckled. "There is no need to be so formal with me, Harry, your politeness is refreshing enough." When Harry relaxed somewhat, the vampire continued, "You will soon understand how tiring it is to be judged on titles alone. Please think of me as nothing more than your ally, if you will."

_Again with the riddles,_ thought Harry, resisting the urge to reach up and massage his temples. He opened his mouth to ask further questions, but Merlot silenced him by raising his hand. "Let us eat in peace now," and Harry shrank back, chastised.

Noticing his subservient pose, Merlot hastily added with a chuckle, "Because I've always believed that breakfast is no place for heavy conversation."

Curiosity ran rampant through Merlot's mind as he watched the child himself, who was so obviously used to being put down by his elders. Looking at his wife next to him, he could see the same worry reflected in his eyes.

Lynd opened her mouth to say something else to put the child at ease, but they were beaten to it by Vesper.

"Will you tell me about magic?" she asked eagerly, "can you show me some?"

Merlot hadn't expected the child to know about magic after going over the information his contact had given him, but to his surprise, Harry's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

He nodded when Harry finished off his food in a hurry and looked to him for permission; after all, the more he could put off the inevitable discussion about Harry's status, the better. And truth be told, he was curious about the magic of the Boy-Who-Lived as well.

And so Harry was supremely aware of the gazes of the two Vampires upon him as he somewhat hestitantly showed Vesper his wand and explained bits of magic to her.

He soon lost himself in the conversation, though, when Vesper's eyes lit up like his and she began asking him questions about different beasts and spells, and he answered them to the best of his abilities.

Pulling his wand out, he cast his favourite charm, and Vesper shrieked in delight when the little ball of light emerged from the tip of his wand and bobbed above her head.

He never noticed the look of wonder on the two Vampire's face as the glowing spheres filled the room, bringing light into the Dark abode of the _Vampyrs_ of old.

* * *

"_...and there were traces of the Charge Step, Amelia," Dumbledore finished excitedly, his eyes glinting in delight. "The Charge Step, believe it or not!"_

_Amelia had never seen the Headmaster so excited, he was almost like a child in his glee._

"_Yes, I understand, Albus," she said wearily, "but this does not bring us any closer to finding Harry Potter. The Prophet has finally gotten wind of the fact that he is missing, and I am doing my best to prevent them from publishing it in the very next edition of the paper. I'm afraid that they will only hold out till tomorrow morning, though."_

"_Then we must hope that he is discovered by that time, Amelia," the old wizard said, "I will double my own efforts to find him."_

"_Any help will be appreciated, Headmaster," she told him, because her own Department was going crazy trying to track down the young wizard. "Though I do hope you will see fit to notify the authorities when you do find him."_

"_Of course I will," Dumbledore assured her lightly, "it would be my honour to work alongside your esteemed Department. I wouldn't dare withhold any information from you," he finished, his eyes twinkling madly._

"_How would you explain this, then, Headmaster?" the woman asked, handing him one of the preliminary reports handed in by the Aurors who'd apprehended Greyback._

"_Albus Dumbledore appeared on the spot to assist us," she quoted, "he was surprised when he moved inside the building and so on. __**Surprised**__, Albus," she said, referring to the Headmaster by his first name. "In all my years, and several of them spent fighting by your side, I've never seen you surprised by anything. So would you please tell me what it was that you were hiding when you tried to throw off my Aurors by faking such an emotion?"_

_Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed. "Full marks, Amelia!" he said, his voice quivering with mirth, "as astute as ever, I see."_

"_The answer to my question, if you please, Headmaster?" she asked, never one to beat around the bush._

"_Of course," he agreed, turning sober. "When I first heard that Mr. Potter had run away from his home, I immediately notified some of my more...exotic friends, shall we say? To be on the lookout for him. It was not mere coincidence that your Aurors so commendably noticed the presence of the Darkness associated with Vampires hanging around in the building."_

_Madam Bones breathed a sigh of relief, understanding at once. "The Vampire was there at your behest, Albus," she said, half impressed and half incensed. "I was almost about to send out diplomatic envoys to all the covens with both concessions and threats!" she chastised him._

_And indeed, the Headmaster was grinning like a guilty schoolboy. "One does not capture the King by forging on alone, Amelia," he told her, waving his hand in the direction of the decorative chessboard on her desk. "To plan is essential, so that we might build up a proper network to capture our prey in. Before he knows it, he is being closed in on from all sides, without any way to escape. Young Harry is currently safe with two dear friends of mine, and I will soon see him returned to safety."_

"_Perhaps it would be prudent to take a statement from him first, Albus?" Amelia countered, "after all, why would he run away from home unless he were unhappy with his current living conditions?"_

_Albus shifted in his seat, the accusation in her voice going unsaid. After all, he'd been the one to place Harry with his relatives, and the Wizarding World was well aware of it._

"_I will see that he is happy as well," he promised her earnestly, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hummed her agreement. "And I will bring him to you," he added, chuckling at her piercing look._

* * *

Harry hadn't noticed when the adults had left the room, so intent was he on playing with his new friend.

She was alright, Harry decided, even though she still was frightening sometimes. Thankfully, she hadn't brought up magic or hugged him unexpectedly when he was performing magic for her.

Seeing her wide eyes and delighted smile, Harry decided to try and be a bit clever.

"So, Vesper," he said conversationally, "how is it that you know who I am?"

"Well, it's because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, silly!" she informed him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What's that mean?" he asked curiously; it sounded rather ominous to him.

Vesper suddenly looked shifty, she was avoiding his gaze. "I don't think it's my place to tell you that, Harry," she said, frustrating Harry to no end.

"Come on, you can tell me," he wheedled, but she shook her head, looking at him with large, sorrowful eyes. "I promise I won't tell anyone," he added, but it was in vain.

"Fine," he said, suddenly feeling that Vesper wasn't nice at all. "Fine, I think I'm tired. Is there any place I can sleep?"

"Look, I'm sorry," she began, but Harry cut her off.

"No, it's fine," he said a little coolly, "it's all right, really. I think your parents told me that I could use this room while I was here? I think I'll just take a nap, it's been a hard night for me, after all."

Vesper was biting her lip, looking at him uncertainly. Finally, she blurted out, "Promise you won't tell anybody?"

Feeling a strange rush of victory, Harry nodded quietly.

To his surprise, Vesper told him that she would be back in a few minutes before leaving the room. When she returned, she was carrying an old, beaten-looking lyre.

Harry blinked in surprise, but Vesper had the hints of a smile on her face. "Can you keep another secret?" she asked him, her blue eyes boring into his green ones.

"Ok," he said curiously, and she nodded, apparently satisfied.

"You should sit on the bed," she told him, and he complied, still curious.

Vesper herself sat down cross legged on the floor, holding the lyre close to her chest.

Looking at Harry for a second, she steeled herself, and then brought her fingers to a string.

She plucked a single string, and Harry was suddenly lost.

He swore that the world was blurring and contracting to the tune of the music she was playing, that his insides were turning and swooping with every note she hit. It was like nothing he'd experienced before, and he could feel a strange tingling sensation.

It was the same sensation he'd felt when he'd first held his wand, or when he'd teleported, or when he would sometimes cast a particularly good spell.

It was pure magic.

His world was dimming, his eyelids growing heavier as the tune overtook the world around him and _became_ his world, until reality was nothing more than the sounds produced by a set of vibrating strings.

And suddenly he was dreaming.

* * *

_Fire._

_Death._

_Ashes._

_Death._

_Power._

_DEATH._

_Death. It was all around him; it was in the trees and the birds, the air and the ground, in him and all around him. It was evil._

_And he was in Godric's Hollow, and he was evil._

_The world around him was an impression of light and dark, of the candles in the pumpkins trying and failing to penetrate the milling darkness of the night._

_He smiled coldly as he walked down the path of the cottage he'd come looking for, his mind finding the current situation pleasantly similar to his observation of the world._

_With a single flick of his wand, the door was open, and he was being attacked._

_With another flick, his challenger was dead. He laughed openly this time, his voice high and cruel, revelling in the Death he wrought. James Potter was weak, to leave his most prized weapon behind when he answered the door._

_More flicks of his wand. The debris the Muggleborn had left purposely on the staircase was vanished, the barricaded door to the nursery was blasted open._

_Another flick, and the Mudblood was dead, her last act on earth being her annoyance of him with her foolish pleading._

_And he prepared his wand for one final spell, looking into the green eyes of the crying young child staring up at him._

_How fitting it should be, that the colour of the last thing the child would see would be the same colour of the objects that granted him sight._

_And he smiled at the twisted poetry in it as he raised his wand –_

_And suddenly he was Harry Potter, legend, hero, and vanquisher of Voldemort. _

_And then he was Harry, left to rot at the Dursleys with his terrible family._

_And he was Harry Potter, learning that he was a wizard from the ghost of Tom Riddle._

_And then he was Harry, escaping his family and discovering the joys of magic._

_And he was Harry Potter, learning about his destiny through Vesper's strange magic._

_He was the Boy-Who-Lived._

* * *

Harry awoke feeling inexplicably well-rested, stretching himself as his shoulders popped in reply.

The rays of the setting sun were painting the room golden, and Vesper was also snoozing, curled up in the armchair in one side of the room.

"Vesper," he whispered, "Vesper!"

She awoke groggily, rubbing her eyes. She sat up, alert, when she realized that Harry speaking to her.

"Harry!" she whispered, "you're awake!"

"What was that, Vesper?" he asked, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he had just gone through. It was like nothing he'd felt before, and he could still feel a part of him crying at the loss of the incredible feelings the music had inspired in him.

"What did you see?" she asked curiously, and Harry struggled to put into words what he'd just felt.

"Everything," he finally said, deciding that it was the best word for the occasion, "everything," he repeated in a whisper, as if afraid to destroy the sanctity of the shadows of the music still playing through his mind.

"What was it you did?" he asked, his voice almost reverent.

The two of them jumped in tandem when a new voice replied, one that sounded both aged yet full of vitality. "Music," said the voice, and Harry turned to see a figure standing in the shadows.

Vesper took in a sharp breath as the figure approached, and Harry resisted the urge to pinch himself to see if he was still dreaming.

For the person was exactly like the wizard children would dream about, from the tip of his blue hat with planets and stars moving on it; to the bottom of his flowing blue robe.

"Music," repeated the old man, "a magic beyond everything a wand can do."

There was silence for a long second, before the old man broke it. Harry felt a curious sense of kin as he stared into the deep blue eyes behind the half moon spectacles.

"It seems I have momentarily forgotten my manners, Mr. Potter," he said with a chuckle.

He extended his hand, and Harry felt something within it stir when he shook it.

The old man must have felt something too, because he smiled delightedly, and his blue eyes began twinkling ever so slightly.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Potter, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

* * *

_The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..._

_...and also with a handshake between two people._

_It all depends on the journey you embark upon._

_And while some journeys end in fire,_

_Some may end in ice._

* * *

She was always as cold as ice, though Sirius, as he beheld Narcissa Malfoy in all her glory, standing with her husband in the cold halls of Azkaban.

But her eyes had always been warm, at least towards him. Right then, they resembled nothing more than chips of stormy grey.

"Sirius," crooned Narcissa, "I believe you are now Lord Black?"

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but the single manicured finger which rose in the air shut him up.

"It would thus be highly beneficial, Sirius," she said, twirling her wand between her fingers, "for all parties involved," she looked meaningfully at Bellatrix and then him, "if you were released from this hellhole."

"And how do you propose we do that, Narcissa?" Sirius asked, even as suspicion grew in his mind. Lucius, staring blankly into space, looked like he'd been –

"That's a rather shoddy Imperius you have there, sister," commented Bellatrix, confirming his beliefs.

"I always did prefer the subtlety of Potions to wand-waving, Bella," replied Narcissa lightly, "but it seems to have done its work admirably nonetheless."

"But why?" croaked Sirius, not understanding what was going on.

"Lucius," a mad glint suddenly entered Narcissa's eyes, and Sirius tried not to think how hot his cousin seemed at that moment – he'd taken enough ribbing from Bellatrix over Andromeda, "has _displeased_ me, of late. It was time I did something about it."

"It was time you grew a spine, Cissa!" crowed Bellatrix approvingly, but Narcissa merely gave her an indulgent smile.

"So choose, cousin," she said, "join forces with me and escape from Azkaban, or rot in here with my beloved sister."

"What's the catch?" asked Sirius, already dreaming of wide open green pastures and blue sky above him. To his horror, he wasn't able to remember exactly how the colour blue looked.

"That you use your powers as Lord Black to free yourself," said Narcissa lightly, "only you won't be yourself."

Sirius was highly confused, until Narcissa pulled a set of vials from underneath her robes.

"Polyjuice," she explained, and a piece of the puzzle fell into place at once.

"You want me to take Lucius' place," said Sirius, "and..." he suddenly looked horrified, "Bellatrix to take mine?"

Narcissa grinned, and pulled out a set of keys as well. "Filched from the Warden while he was ogling my breasts," she said, sending Bellatrix into fits of laughter again. "If you would be so kind?"

"But that would mean Bella would go free as well!" exclaimed Sirius, looking at her incredulously.

"It is time, Sirius," replied Narcissa, ignoring the now glaring Bellatrix, "for you to make a choice. Ours or the Light Side's?"

Sirius' answer was ready on his lips, until she added, "The same Light Side that left you to rot here without a trial for eight years, Sirius?"

Sirius tried, he really did, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the face of his godson. Azkaban had sucked all of his happy memories out of him, and he simply didn't have any bad ones with Harry.

And try as he might, he couldn't remember how the sky looked as well.

Sighing, Sirius reached out for the vial. He would figure things out later.

Bellatrix crowed victoriously, as Narcissa's lips curved upwards in a similar smile.

Narcissa smirked as Sirius crumbled like she knew he would after eight years of Azkaban.

And Bellatrix cackled insanely as she debated whether she would tell him about how Narcissa had nursed her own crush on her cousin all the way through Hogwarts.

* * *

**Author's Note: And so we near the end of part one, before we go through a small time skip. One or two more chapters should do it, I believe.**

**Please don't forget to leave your thoughts behind, I was so pleased to see both the criticism and praise for the preceding Chapter!**

**And finally, yes. Harry's tutor/ally won't be Merlot and his merry band of Vampires, but Vesper and her magical fingers.**


	6. The End of the Beginning

**Chapter 6: The End of the Beginning**

_Some people are born great._

_For example, the child prophesized to kill the greatest Dark Lord of his time._

_Some people have greatness thrust upon them._

_Like a child hunted by a man obsessed with immortality._

_Some achieve greatness._

_This is the end of the very beginning of the same child's story._

* * *

_He was the Boy-Who-Lived._ Harry couldn't get the thought out of his head as he sat in his chair, ignoring the whispers of hushed conversation and the clinking of cutlery. He was eating his food mechanically, not even tasting the delicious fare which had been made for the guests of the Vampire Lord.

Harry's mind kept flashing back to the strange magic that Vesper had weaved with her lyre, and the images he had seen.

He was a hero, a legend, in the Wizarding World. Him, Harry Potter, a vagrant who had been living in a cupboard under the stairs only a few months back.

He wondered how he would react when he finally met more Wizards, remembering faint impressions from the spell.

A mass of people, faceless in the darkness of the night, cheering his name to the heavens. Flashes of light from the fireworks beating back the shadows, tears of joy and cries of laughter, celebrations of victory...

He marvelled again at the magic Vesper could do; he had never performed anything like it with his wand.

_A magic beyond all that we can do with wands,_ Albus Dumbledore had explained.

_Albus Dumbledore._ The name still resonated within Harry even as he watched the man sitting opposite to him at the table. He was dressed in the most wizard-y clothes Harry had ever seen, and seemed to exude an aura of magic wherever he went.

Harry's bright green eyes met Dumbledore's blue ones, and for a second, Harry had the strangest sensation. It was almost like the old man was seeing right _through _him.

_That's impossible,_ his mind told him, but it sounded strangely unconvincing even to him. He wondered what Dumbledore would see in him –

His question was answered as the old man inclined his head and looked over the top of his half-moon glasses at Harry. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle with kindness as he gave Harry a small, kindly smile; the corners of his white, bushy moustache curling up.

Suddenly feeling inexplicably shy, Harry ducked his head and concentrated on his steak and potatoes instead.

Or rather, he tried to. Harry almost threw down his knife and fork in frustration as the vampire serving their table began nuzzling him again.

Next to him, Vesper hissed, her bad mood exacerbated by the attendant's behaviour. Every vampire Harry had come across – a grand total of four including Merlot's personal valet and attendant - seemed to be enamoured with Harry, something which he was beginning to find increasingly creepy. Vampires, according to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ were supposed to be merciless, bloodthirsty creatures of the night; they weren't supposed to be rubbing their cheeks against Harry's own and sniffing him every chance they got!

"Risa," Merlot commanded, his voice sharp, snapping the serving vampire back to consciousness. "Control yourself, please."

"Yes, my lord," the female nightwalker replied with a bow, before hurrying out of the room with a dreamy look on her face.

Merlot sighed, while Vesper continued to glower. She was making no secret of her dislike of Risa's weakness towards Harry; and on top of that, the little girl had been punished for playing her lyre without her parents' approval - she was currently on a 'time-out.' Harry had secretly been amused, even though he hadn't dared to show it; it seemed that humans and vampires had some things in common as well despite their vastly different lifestyles.

Harry still couldn't reconcile himself with the goblet of blood next to the dishes of the vampires, though. Lynd had caught his look and assured him that the blood had not been taken by force, but even so, seeing a creature actually drink blood was a new experience for Harry.

"It seems Mr. Potter has an unusual effect on your kind," Dumbledore commented, his voice tinged with amusement as well as an underlying curiosity.

"He does," Lynd agreed, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "He carries a scent so utterly alien, and so enticing at the same time that we cannot help but be drawn to it."

Merlot nodded his head in agreement. "It is like a memory of a dream," he said, his voice almost reverent, "or of a dream of a dream."

Dumbledore merely nodded and took another bite of his food, even though his thoughts were running at a furious pace.

_What scent can a child carry that even the vampires cannot resist?_ The Headmaster of Hogwarts wondered, wishing he could use Legilimency on that child to sate his burning curiosity.

But of course he wouldn't do that, he told himself. For one, Harry was a child and could be irreparably hurt by the touch of Mind Magic; and besides, Dumbledore had always followed the law when it came to the arcane Mind Arts. Contrary to popular belief, his famous 'See-Through Vision' wasn't a form of Legilimency, but just a form of magic that all wise old people have.

Harry, for his part, merely tried to hide his blush and sink into his chair so that he would remain unnoticed. It was downright embarrassing to have someone talk about him like that when he was sitting right next to them at the table.

Lynd must have caught his mannerisms, because she straightened hurriedly and issued a quick apology. "I'm sorry, my child," the vampire said politely, "I got carried away for a moment there."

"It's alright," Harry replied just as quickly, "I don't mind."

To be honest, he _did _mind, but he wasn't about to say that to the people – creatures – who'd saved his life and given him shelter.

"A polite young man, I see!" Dumbledore commented jovially, a grandfatherly grin on his face. "Your mother would have been proud, my boy."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he snapped his head up so fast that he almost hurt his neck.

Was it coincidence, or did Dumbledore know somehow? Had the old man somehow figured out that he was trying to make sense of the series of images and impressions Vesper had shown him with her lyre, trying to get a clear picture of his parents?

He had been able to remember messy black hair like his and a pair of shining eyes behind round glasses like his; flowing red hair and almond green eyes which he'd inherited. He remembered impressions of great courage, love, friendship...

"Y – you knew my parents?" Harry croaked, almost unbelievingly.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, rummaging in his pockets. He had shrewdly foreseen this eventuality when he met Harry and had prepared accordingly for it. "If I may?" he glanced at his hosts, and Merlot nodded his agreement. He wanted to see the couple who had given birth to the hero of the generation as well.

Dumbledore rummaged inside his cloak, before pulling out a worn photograph. Lynd raised her eyebrow at the fact that he had a picture of Lily and James Potter so handy, but didn't comment on it.

"Here you go," he told the green-eyed wizard kindly, handing the photograph across the table. Harry, his eyes wide and hands trembling, reached out to take it; too caught up in his emotions to be suspicious of Dumbledore.

Harry took the photograph face down, as if he was almost afraid to see his parents immediately.

Taking a silent but deep breath, he turned it over.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. There they were, dancing to an invisible tune amidst the swirling leaves. His mother's hair was a dark shade of red, while his father's hazel eyes were shining behind his lenses.

"She's beautiful," Vesper whispered, leaning over to get a good look. Both Lynd and Merlot, the latter who'd actually left his seat to see the picture, nodded quietly in agreement.

Harry ruined the moment by asking, "What were their names?"

The temperature in the room dropped drastically, but Harry was too caught up in his wonder to notice.

"Their names?" Even Dumbledore was mildly surprised by the question. "Lily and James Potter, of course. Surely you knew that, Harry?"

Harry's only reply was silence as he jerked his head down to quietly study the photograph. The tips of his ears were becoming visibly red, though.

"You didn't know?" Dumbledore asked, unable to hide the shock that flitted across his face. "Surely Vernon and Petunia told you about them?"

Then it clicked. The look of wonder on Harry's face at the photograph; the boy hadn't even realized that the photograph was moving, so mesmerized he was by the sight of his parents. It was almost like...

"Is that the first time you're seeing them?" Vesper asked, suddenly displaying insight beyond her years.

Very slowly, almost painfully aware of the eyes of everyone in the room upon him, Harry nodded his head.

Silence descended on the room until it was almost tangible in the air. Dumbledore resisted the urge to sigh and cradle his head in his hands. He'd thought that Harry would be amazed by seeing a magical photograph of his parents, but he hadn't thought that this would be the first time Harry would actually see his parents altogether.

_Crack!_ The silence in the room was shattered by the sound of shattering wood. Harry jumped in his seat and turned around to find that Lynd had snapped off the head of the chair's back.

The sharp sound seemed to dull the vampire matriarch's anger somewhat, bringing her back to her senses. "I – I'm sorry," she said somewhat lamely. "I lost control for a second there..."

"Quite understandable," Dumbledore muttered, feeling every long year of his life at that moment. "Quite understandable," he repeated again, his voice faint.

Harry chanced a glance upwards at the old Headmaster, and was surprised to see how defeated he appeared – it didn't fit with his image at all. He watched as Dumbledore slowly straightened his back and regained the brightness in his eyes, a new sort of resolve filling the room.

With a jolt, Harry realized that something _was_ really filling up the room. He couldn't really place it, but it seemed to be cloying the air around him until he could fairly breathe it in with every gulp of air he took.

_It's coming from Dumbledore,_ the young wizard realized. The old man seemed to be exuding an aura of some kind, something which both terrified and elated Harry at the same time.

"It seems," Dumbledore said, his voice firm and deliberate, "that I need to have a talk with your relatives at once."

The pressure in the room was building up ever so slightly with every passing second; Harry suddenly felt that Dumbledore was far, far angrier than he was letting on. Was it something he'd said?

He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had been about to say was lost forever as the magic in the room reached a crescendo. Harry's heart suddenly seemed to swell and beat its way out of his ribcage as _warmth_ suffused the room –

And suddenly Dumbledore caught fire. The man's frame was suddenly covered with a towering pillar of flame, which seemed to be giving out waves of warmth.

_Warmth,_ Harry's mind detachedly noted, _warmth, not heat._

And then panic set in and he fell of his chair with a yell.

But Dumbledore was already gone, reduced to nothing. There wasn't even any sign of ashes on his seat.

Harry ran around the table to the old man's chair; the seat was still warm to touch.

"What happened?" he asked, suddenly afraid.

Laughter floated into his field of hearing, and he was surprised to look up and see Merlot and Lynd laughing at the horrified expression on his face. For a second, he was indignant and wanted to protest that Dumbledore had just been reduced to _nothing_ before their very eyes, before it struck him that he was obviously missing something.

"Phoenixes," Merlot explained, making Harry's eyes widen in wonder. "Or phoenix, to be precise; the only one in our world. It's Dumbledore's favourite method of travel."

Harry was dumbstruck for a second, taking in this new piece of information.

Dumbledore...travelled by fire?

His anger and fear forgotten, he turned to the vampires in the room. "Can I learn to do that as well?" he asked eagerly.

The vampires only laughed harder, but Harry had found something to strive towards.

* * *

_What makes a man great?_

_Some say it is the will to succeed, the burning desire to become greater than one's peers._

_Others believe that it is the thirst for acknowledgment, to be known as the best to ever exist._

_Very few people believe that every man is born great, and that greatness lies within them, waiting to be realized._

* * *

"This is it, Sirius," Bellatrix whispered, her dark eyes shining. "This is your chance, to shed your old life and truly make something of your life again."

Sirius gave no reply, staring solemnly at the vial of mud-like liquid in his hand and the lock of blond hair in his hand. Lucius sat quietly against the bars of his cell, humming _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ absently.

His entire life would change if he took that potion, he realized. Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Hurry up," Narcissa urged, though her grey eyes were gleaming as well. She backed into the darkness as Sirius added the hair to the Polyjuice, which bubbled before turning a steel grey colour.

"How dull," the Malfoy matriarch muttered blithely, her eyes still on Sirius as he stared intently at the potion, his face a mask.

"But it won't be soon," Bellatrix whispered, "not when you finally have dear cousin Sirius within your grasp."

Narcissa's only indication of emotion was the faint dusting of pink that graced her cheek, her expression remained set in stone otherwise.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she hissed, so quietly that Sirius wouldn't hear her speak.

"Oh don't I?" Bellatrix challenged, her voice low and sharp, "All Blacks are either insane or incestuous, Narcissa, and a combination of both more often than not. Don't hide your heritage from your dear old sister, of all people."

"Control your tongue!" Narcissa hissed, trying and failing to hide her visible blush now, "or you might find yourself remaining inside your cell till the end of days!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bellatrix crooned, undeterred. "You and cousin Siri, locked up in your house all alone, with nobody but each other for company..."

"I have a son," Narcissa began to reply stiffly, but she stopped short as Sirius seemed to finally come to a decision.

Taking a deep breath, the dark haired man downed the vial of Polyjuice in one go, grimacing as he was assaulted by the cabbage-like taste.

They watched in fascination as his features bubbled and twisted, until a heaving, retching Lucius Malfoy was lying on all fours on the floor of the cell.

The real Lucius turned and stared at the impostor for a few moments before he turned back and continued humming.

"Well," Bellatrix said, "it worked. Now, for my transformation."

Five minutes later, Bellatrix was in Sirius' cell disguised as the Animagus, Lucius was in Bellatrix's cell disguised as her, and Sirius was standing next to Narcissa in the form of Lucius.

"That's done," Narcissa commented briskly as she vanished the keys with a flick of her wand. "Bella, remember to hide and take the Polyjuice every hour; I'll be sending more of it as soon as I can."

Bellatrix nodded, lost in the caressing of her wand which Narcissa had retrieved for her. The shrunk box of potion was safely ensconced in her dress, and she was now familiarizing herself again with the walnut stick.

"And now," the blonde said, licking her lips, "something I will enjoy." And without warning, she drew her wand and hissed the incantation for the Cutting Hex.

Lucius fell back in a spray of blood, painting the walls of Bellatrix's cell a macabre red. Bellatrix watched gleefully, revelling in Death as always, as Lucius gurgled and struggled, clutching his neck, before he grew still.

Narcissa screamed loudly, startling Sirius who was fidgeting nervously with the hem of his robe.

"What did you do that for?" he asked, massaging his chest.

"Play along," was Narcissa's terse reply, as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber and the guards came rushing in.

"What happened?" one of them asked, and Narcissa fell into the role of the terrified woman immediately.

"Oh, it was so horrible!" she gasped, her eyes shining. "I was talking to her, and she leapt at me without warning – I didn't mean to, I swear – but she looked so dangerous, I reacted without acting –"

She was rambling masterfully, but the guards managed to piece together what had happened.

"You killed her?" one of them, a new man on duty, asked.

Narcissa gave an extremely convincing wail, clutching her breast – which was heaving impressively and drawing the eye of several of the men. "I – I didn't mean to," she said, "She was my sister!" she wailed again, and Sirius, who had been watching the whole act with a sort of dumbfounded look on his face, finally caught up with her.

"I, err, think that this should be settled discreetly," he said, before grimacing ever so slightly. He sounded weak and unsure – Lucius would probably suffer from an aneurysm if he ever heard himself speak like that. Drawing himself up and remembering the lessons from his childhood, he did his best to fake an imperial voice. "I'm sure we can come to an understanding," he said smoothly.

Bellatrix in the guise of Sirius watched the proceedings, impressed by her cousin's adaptability – no doubt born from the juvenile pranks he would play in his childhood. Of course, his act lasted only until Narcissa decided to throw a wrench in their act.

"Lucius, darling," she said, turning on him and giving him an impressive view down the front of her dress, "kiss me! Take away some of this pain I feel!"

_Narcissa was always one for overacting when it finally came down to it,_ Bellatrix thought distastefully as Sirius almost choked on his own spit, _but she was always a crafty little witch._

* * *

_Most walks have a purpose. A beginning. And an end._

_All walks end in death. But that is the end of the end._

_Some walks end in failure. Some end in success._

_Some walks end with freedom. _

_And some with greatness._

_The story of the walk, though, is what makes it a walk to remember._

* * *

Harry lay in bed, enjoying the feeling of the soft mattress underneath him. His bag lay neatly packed in one corner of the room, and his favourite wand was on the table next to the bed.

He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up blankly at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened over the past couple of days. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around some of it – he snorted for a second, thinking about how he had once doubted the existence of something so simple as magic.

Lost in thought, he was forced out of his thoughts when the bedsprings creaked and he felt a weight shift onto the bed next to him. He jerked away in surprise, before he recognized the faint outline of the intruder.

"Vesper!" he exclaimed, surprised and relieved in equal measures. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't even heard her open the door and enter.

She held up something in reply, and he recognized the lyre in her hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, "your parents told you not to play that again!"

Vesper was silent for a moment, before she asked, 'Don't you want to know the rest of your story?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Harry almost agreed without thinking, remembering the incredible rush her magic had produced, before he replayed what she'd just said in her head.

"Y-you can show me my future?" he asked, his green eyes widening behind his glasses.

"No," she said, and his face fell. "There are too many possibilities in your future. I can only show you some of them –"

"Your parents will get mad," Harry whispered, hoping they wouldn't be overheard by anybody outside.

"I want to do it," she replied, a bit of stubbornness colouring her tone.

"Are you sure?" his resolve was slipping. "I couldn't do it," he said, thinking back to how Merlot and Lynd had helped him. "That wouldn't be right."

Vesper looked crestfallen for a second, before she smiled slyly. Before Harry could protest, she began playing her lyre.

Immediately, Harry was besieged by the series of pictures and feelings. He swore the walls of the room _melted_ away, until he was standing in a vast _nothing_ness.

And then, like a movie, his life began to play out before him. Or lives, to be precise.

_He had lived with the Dursleys all his life up to his time in college, always the social outcast._

He rejected that immediately, knowing that that was not his life. More images flowed in, all a series of sounds and vibrations and feelings and emotions, of pictures and films. He rejected them as they came, for none of them fitted his life.

_He was eleven and being rescued from a lone hut in the middle of nowhere by a giant of a man. He was waking up in a hospital, being told that he had been suffering from delusions all his life. He had been abducted by a fat, rat-like man who had taken him to a large manor on a hill._

And then it came.

_He was seven and running away from the Dursleys, aided by a snake and a cat. _He latched onto it immediately, and more images began to play.

_He was dancing on a rooftop, learning his first spell, hiding under the window of a school. He was taking shelter from the rain in his tent, he was running from a werewolf, he was meeting Dumbledore, Vesper was playing –_

Like ripples caused by a stone falling into water, the music changed tune, becoming unpredictable and wild.

_He was being taken down a lift, to a building with a large fountain and milling wizards. He was living in a castle, learning magic and flying in the wind. He was meeting a blond man who wasn't really a blond man, but someone who'd known and loved him long ago._

_He was walking through a deep dark forest, open plains. He was sailing over vast oceans and swimming across small lakes. He was flying in giant planes – and he was free._

_Free._

_And then he saw more. Adventure, mysteries, power, destruction, magic. His future had so many possibilities! A ship caught in a storm. A cave leading to the depths of the earth. A tiny, blood red stone. A giant snake with terrible eyes. A devil with ten heads. A pale snake-like man with crimson eyes. A ring. A wand. The snake-man again. Singing women. Women eating lotuses. An island filled with pigs. An island with a lone inhabitant. The pale man, wand raised – power -_

Without warning, the spell ceased, and he was suddenly back in his room. Tears were pouring down his cheeks at the loss of the beautiful magic, and Vesper reached over and wrapped her thin arms around him.

Already, the images were fading, like sand through his fingers, like water through a sieve.

"What's happening?" he asked, panicking irrationally at the fading sensations. "Why can't I remember what I just saw?"

"You do," Vesper murmured, "just not in your mind."

"What good does that do then?" Harry asked, frustrated at her roundabout answer.

Her only reply was a soft snore, and he looked down to see that Vesper was fast asleep and had nearly climbed into his lap.

_The magic must have tired her out,_ Harry realized, suddenly understanding why she had stopped playing without warning. He felt guilty for not thinking about how using her magic would have affected her.

He sat back against the wall, feeling as though all his drowsiness had been swept away. There was a sense of rightness in his heart, a burning desire. He needed to get out of the castle, out in the open.

He had never felt surer about anything. It was his life, his calling.

He threw a long glance at Vesper, before he climbed out of bed and gripped his wand. Shoving it into his pocket, he went over to the other corner of the room and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders.

A smile crept onto his face before he could help it, as the old anticipation filled him again. He needed to find his way out, and he needed to do it fast.

His gaze fell on Vesper again, and he couldn't help the guilt that rushed up within him.

"She'll understand," a deep voice interrupted his musings, and he jumped in horror. Merlot was leaning casually against the doorframe, looking down at him solemnly.

"I – I didn't mean to –" Why was it that he would be apprehended by someone every time he tried to escape?

"I understand," Merlot said gently. "I knew the moment that I set my eyes upon you that you were meant for something more than normal wizards can hope to achieve."

Harry frowned at his words, echoes of his time at the Dursleys coming to his mind. Was he cursed to be different from the rest, whichever world he was in?

"He didn't mean it in the way you're thinking," a softer voice added, and he saw Lynd lounging at the window, looking at him with a small smile on her face.

"How did you get there?" Harry whispered furiously; he was sure that the windowsill had been empty moments ago. He blinked. Lynd was suddenly standing next to him, and her grin suddenly looked a lot more menacing – Harry backed away almost unconsciously. The air around him seemed to solidify and choke him, and he was sure he saw frost creeping up the glass of the panes.

"We are Kings and Queens of the night," Lynd said with a genuine smile, and the spell was broken. "It is when we are strongest."

Harry only nodded, not knowing what else to say. "Will you allow me to leave?" he asked quietly, knowing that this moment would shape his future.

The two vampires looked at him long and hard. "And why should we do that for you?" Merlot asked, a slightly imperious tone to his voice.

Harry mumbled something incoherently, speaking up louder when Lynd made an inquisitive noise. "I – I just want to travel the world. I can't explain it, but I know that it's – it's where my destiny lies."

_Destiny._ It was the first time he had really said the word out loud, and it seemed to send a thrill down his spine. There was something about the word that was just _right_ to him.

"Great words for one such young as you," Merlot challenged, "why should we let a child free to roam as he pleases?"

Harry bristled, even though he had posed the same argument months ago. "I'm not a child," he said through gritted teeth, and the two of them seemed almost disappointed by his stereotypical reply. Uncaring, Harry drew his wand and waved it. Sparks flew from the end and the dust flew up around him, driven by invisible zephyrs.

"I am a wizard."

The vampires fixed him with long, inscrutable stares, before their face broke out into smiles. "Very well," Merlot finally said, "we shall aid you on your quest."

Harry started; he hadn't expected them to agree so quickly.

"And what about Dumbledore?" he asked, eyeing the two of them nervously.

"What about him?" Lynd replied, a mischievous glint to her eyes. "He holds no power over us, and he will be terribly saddened to learn that you managed to escape the castle when the rest of us were busy with our own duties. After all, there is a secret passage that leads outside our castle right at the end of this corridor behind the bust of Alucard the Third."

"Er, right," Harry said. Lynd dropped to her knees before him, putting her slender hands on his shoulder.

"We are putting our faith in you, Harry Potter," she said, a strange gravity in her voice. "We believe that you are meant for greatness. Do not let us down."

Merlot threw something in his direction, he caught it without even batting an eyelash. Ignoring the raised eyebrows at his reflexes, he examined it.

It was a dagger; a short blade with an intricate dragon carved on the hilt. He shifted it in his hand, watching the play of silver ripples along the surface.

"It is a Portkey," Merlot said, "it will take you far away from here, away from the eyes of British wizards."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. To leave the country – it seemed too momentous a decision.

"You don't have to use it now," Merlot said reassuringly. But when you are ready, you will find the activating password engraved on the hilt.

Harry squinted through the moonlight to find the words.

"Carpe Diem," he read aloud, "what does that mean?"

"Seize the day," Lynd replied concisely, making him nod again.

"Where will it take me?" he asked, still marvelling at the tool in his hand.

"On an adventure," was Merlot's simple reply.

The sound of music reached Harry's ears for the second time that night. It was a haunting, heart-wrenching melody.

He looked behind him to see Lynd playing the lyre, her long fingers moving expertly over the strings.

"She does not possess our daughter's gift," Merlot said in a quiet voice. "But she is talented in her own right."

"What is she playing?" Harry whispered. Merlot was correct; the music didn't put him in a trance like Vesper's did, but at the same time it made him think of snow covered mountains and vast open fields, of goodbyes and new beginnings.

"A song of farewell," Merlot whispered, as Lynd hit a particularly beautiful patch of notes, making Harry's eyes well up. He wasn't sure he would be able to leave at all if the feeling persisted.

"Go," Merlot said, a sense of finality falling upon them. Harry nodded and swallowed thickly, before shoving the dagger in his backpack and moving out of the room.

He stopped at the door, illuminated by the moonbeam from the corridor. A strange sensation was rising within him, fed by the magical tune of the lyre. His wand in his hand grew warmer, until he could almost hear strains of faint music playing alongside Lynd's melody. It was almost as if his _blood_ was singing. If anyone would have seen him at that moment, they would have been able to see the faintest outline of a triangle tattoo on his cheek.

Finally, when it felt like his heart could no longer take it, he waved his wand and let the passion flow, incanting his favourite spell.

A measure of peace descended on him, a feeling that he had managed to repay some of the beautiful memories Lynd had gifted him.

Not even looking back to see what he had accomplished, he squared his back and walked down the corridor.

Secret passages and then freedom beckoned.

* * *

_Strains of the magical melody faded away into the night as a tiny ball of light floated into the room. The two vampires watched, their hearts in their throat as it bobbed in the air almost indecisively._

_There was something different about this magic – fuelled by Lynd's own, it had transcended into something...greater. The light floated around the room, almost like it was searching for something. _

_It stopped at the window for a few moments, and rotated about like a little moon, almost like it was confused. It examined the tiny lantern, but floated away after a moment's introspection._

_Driven by some strange instinct, Lynd reached for the fine chain around her neck. At the end of it lay a clear diamond, Merlot's Union gift to her. She held it aloft in the air._

_Before their unbelieving eyes, the light zoomed into the gem, making it thrash widely in thin air for a moment before it calmed. It fell through the air like the pendulum of a clock, until it came to rest against Lynd's breast._

_The vampire gasped, her eyes filling with tears as the smell of crushed pines and warm sunlight and something else she instinctively recognized but couldn't place filled her nose. Warmth filled her chest as she gazed down at the necklace, which was now glowing like a tiny star against pale skin._

"_Magic," Merlot whispered, finding no greater word to describe it. "Magic," he whispered again, his eyes wide and his voice quavering._

_Lynd let her aura free, drawing in the darkness around her and wearing it like a cloak around her frame._

_A tiny spark of light persisted within the darkness, like a lone star in the vast night sky._

_A tiny, crystal-like drop of water left Lynd's eye and fell next to the pendant._

_Highly misunderstood creatures, Vampires are._

_They're not really creatures of the night. They're just unable to reach for the light._

* * *

**Two Months Later**

The winter was cold and harsh this year. Harry lay curled up in his tent, reading _Fantastic Beasts_ for what seemed the umpteenth time.

He'd had some close shaves with the wizards in the past few months, though it had decreased recently with the sudden increase in cold.

He shivered slightly, pulling his second shirt closer over his first and recasting the Heating Charm on himself. He was really starting to hate the weather.

"It's not really that bad," Harry jumped, and turned around to find his trusty old companion, the dark haired girl.

He sighed, making her look almost amused. "What is it this time?" he asked almost wearily.

"Whatever do you mean?" He wasn't imagining it, she was definitely grinning.

"I'm generally in for a bad time whenever you appear," Harry explained, before a thought struck him. "Are you my fairy godmother?" he asked, his eyes widening. It wouldn't really come as a surprise after everything he'd seen so far.

"What's a fairy godmother?" she asked, perplexed. "Does it have anything to do with a heart?"

Harry felt the beginnings of an oncoming headache.

Standing up, he began packing his things, throwing his stuff haphazardly into his backpack.

"What is it?" the girl asked innocently, handing him a couple of his socks after examining them thoroughly.

He paused, noticing for the first time that her feet were completely bare. Why had he never noticed that before? "Do you want socks?" he asked, feeling bad for the girl, whoever she was. "You can keep that one, I'm already wearing two pairs of mine."

She threw him a strangely indecipherable look that made him shift uncomfortably. When she began to lean forward, he backed away quickly, raising his hands.

"Hey, hey, you don't have to kiss me every time I offer to do something nice for you," he said, waving his hands like a windmill. "Saying thanks is fine."

"All right then," she said with a giggle as she pulled on the socks eagerly. The yellow clashed horribly with her dark clothes, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Harry muttered as he finished packing his things and moved on to disassembling his tent.

"What are you doing?" the girl asked curiously.

"Doing something I've been thinking about for a long time," Harry said, holding up the dagger Merlot had gifted him. "And also getting away from here before some sort of disaster strikes."

The Muggle prison escapee heading through the snow-covered forest felt a strange sensation travel down his spine before he shrugged it off, trudging through the snow and hoping that he would come across an unsuspecting victim soon.

Done with his packing, Harry turned around to face the girl. "Well, this is goodbye for now," he said. "I'm leaving for a while, so I don't think you'll be seeing much of me."

"Oh, I'll be seeing you around," the girl said lightly, filling him with a strange sense of foreboding.

Wanting to shrug off the feeling; and also feeling rather anticlimactic about what he had imagined to be his grand departure from Britain, Harry grasped the dagger tightly in his hands and muttered, _'Carpe Diem.'_

And suddenly, he was being pulled through the air while simultaneously spinning like a top. As the world around him accelerated to a vortex of blue, Harry decided that he really needed to find a way of wizard travel he didn't hate.

He landed heavily on his back, the smell of grass drifting up his nose. He sat up and looked around. He was in a forest, sitting in the shade of trees so large that only thin beams of sunlight were able to penetrate their leaves and fall on the forest floor.

He sat there for some time, simply taking in the world around him and trying to get over the excitement that he was in a whole new country. Fear rose in him as well, but he crushed it mercilessly as he sought out the familiar warmth of his wand in his pocket.

After another long stretch of inactivity, he got up and dusted himself off. Then he reached up and pulled his backpack over his shoulders. And he began to move.

And so began a long walk to greatness.

* * *

_The sound of clapping reached their ears as the shadows lifted to reveal an aged man in startling blue clothes._

"_Dumbledore!" Lynd gasped, the novelty of her new acquisition fading for a moment."How?"_

"_I have my ways, my dear," the old man replied, and his voice carried no hint of anger in it. "That was most impressive magic that young Mr. Potter performed; you should definitely keep that pendant close to heart."_

"_You were here all along?" Merlot asked, his eyes wide. "You let Harry leave?"_

"_I did," the Headmaster said with a small grin, "it would be criminal not to."_

"_But the Ministry's looking for him –"_

"_To put him into a home of their own selection; possibly one of Fudge's advisors – maybe even the Minister's house himself."_

_Lynd couldn't hide a shudder at that thought._

"_But do not fear, my friends," Dumbledore said, and a small tongue of flame appeared around his index finger. "I have my ways of keeping my eyes on him."_

"_But how do you know that it was the right thing to do, letting him leave?" Merlot asked, voicing the question that had been plaguing him._

_Dumbledore reached inside his pocket, quenching the flame in his hand. His fingers tightened around a hilt of Elder wood, revelling in the familiar sensation of his wand._

"_Let's just say," Dumbledore said, "I had a gut feeling about him."_

_The adults paused their conversation as Vesper shifted in her bed, muttering slightly in her sleep._

_The young vampire dreamt as she slept, of the several futures _she_ had seen while she had been playing._

_A little smile crept onto her face as she dreamt of the future where she was together with a dark-haired man with green eyes and a crooked grin._

* * *

_**End of Part One**_

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, this chapter came out longer than usual. As you can see, this is the end of the first arc of the story, and also part one of it. I'm sorry for the delay, but real life gets in the way, and I also took my time with my favourite story to write.**

**When we meet him next, Harry will be older, and ready to embark on his first true adventure. This, of course, will happen after **_**quite**_** some time, because I'm laying off the writing thanks to the pressure of my final year. This story will never be dead, though, because I plan to make it my best work. I **_**will **_**be back. And the updates will hopefully come hard and fast then.**

**Oh, the last lines aren't foreshadowing for a pairing. Just saying. Anything can happen. And I don't think Sirius will be paired with Narcissa, either. That's just some comic relief, I guess.**

**Because there will be a long gap between this and the next update, I'll drop a few hints. Harry won't be attending Hogwarts yet. Yes, the canon adventures will all play out, but in wildly different settings; hopefully reminiscent of the old Greek myths which so fascinate me. Yes, the story will be heavily influenced by mythology in some cases, ranging from Greek to even Indian.**

**Look at JKR's own story for example. Orpheus played a lyre and descended into the depths of the underworld past Cerberus. Harry and his friends took advantage of a harp to sneak past Fluffy into the depths of an underground passage. The parallels are fantastic; it's the little things like them which drove me to write this story.**

**Until next time, in the hopes that you all stay well.**

**Warlord. **


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